\ 


TALES; 


AND  REVOLUTIONARY. 


BY  MRS.  C.  R.  WILLIAMS, 

Author  of  "  Religion  at  Home,"  "  Original  Poem*,"  &c. 


Perhaps  in  this  inglorious   spot  is  laid 
'  A  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre." 


Some  mute,   inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
'  Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  Country's  blood." 


H.    H.    BROWN. ...PRINTER, 

No.  If,,  Market  Squaw.  . 

1830. 


RHODE-ISLAND  DISTRICT,  so. 

[L.  S.]  Be  it  remembered,  That  on  the  9th  day 
of  July,  1«30,  and  in  the  fifty  fifth  year  of  the  Independ 
ence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  CATHARINE  R. 
WILLIAMS,  of  said  District,  deposited  in  this  Office  the 
title  of  a  book,  whereof  she  claims  as  author,  in  the 
following  words,  viz.  "  Tales — National  and  Revolu 
tionary.  By  Mrs.  C.  R.  Williams,  author  of "  Religion 
at  Home,"  "  Original  Poerns,"  &c. 

"  Perhaps  in  this  inglorious  spot  is  laid 
"  A  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
'  Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  xnight.have  swayed, 
"  Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre." 

*         ^    *  *    , .        *  *  * 

*  '   *•  >  *  -  •         *  *  * 

"  Some  mure,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 

"  Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  Country's  blood^." 

In  conformity  to  an  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
entitled  "  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by 
securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts  and  books  to  the  au 
thors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  time 
therein  mentioned,  and  also  to  an  Act  entitled  "  An  Act 
supplementary  to  an  Act  entitled  an  Act  for  the  encour 
agement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  cjpies  of  maps, 
charts  and  books  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of 
such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,  and 
extending  the  benefit  thereof  to  the  art  of  designing,  em- 
graving  and  etching  historical  or  other  prints.  " 
Witness, 

BENJAMIN  COWELL, 
Clerk  of  the  Rhode-Island  District. 


?$: 


If 33 

M 


PREFACE. 


I  AM  persuaded  that  no  other  apology  is  needed, 
in  presenting  this  humble  Volume  to  the  notice  of  an 
enlightened  public,  than  what  its  Title  affords.  To 
most  persons,  and  to  all  who  love  their  country 
every  thing,  however  remotely  connected  with  the 
history  of  that  war  which  terminated  in  our  National 
Independence,  will  be  interesting. 

It  is  true  that  the  public  events  worthy  to  be  re 
corded,  are  generally  found  detailed  with  truth  and 
accuracy  on  the  pages  of  history;  but  there  are  many 
of  a  minor  nature,  which  had  great  influence  in  the 
destiny  of  our  Country,  as  yet  "unsung,"  the  total 
recollection  of  which,  is  fast  fading  from  the  memory 
of  man.  The  last  generation  are  passing  from  the 
stage  of  action.  A  few,  and  but  a  very  few,  heroes 
of  the  Revolution  still  linger,  and  they  linger  upon 
the  threshhold  of  eternity.  Before  another  half  cen 
tury  shall  have  elapsed,  the  names — the  very  names 


IV  PREFACE. 

of  many  of  our  bravest  countrymen  shall  have  perish 
ed  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Yes,  the  existence  of 
many  who  have  gloriously  fought  and  bled  for  the 
liberties  we  are  enjoying,  the  blessings  we  are  now 
in  possession  of,  will  have  been  forgotten. 

There  is  in  our  truly  republican  country  such  a 
disdain  of  all  hereditary  distinction,  (and  long  may 
it  be  so,)  as  greatly  to  accelerate  the  event  to 
which  I  allude.  It  was  not  without  some  truth  that 
an  English  writer  asserted,  "  there  were  many  in 
America  who  could  not  remember  the  names  of  their 
grand-fathers."  Yet,  setting  aside  the  vain  preten 
sions  of  those  who  lay  claim  to  public  favor  on  ac 
count  of  their  descent,  there  is  a  pleasure  in  contem 
plating  the  descendants  of  the  good — and  there  is 
also  a  use,  a  holy  use,  in  retracing  the  history  of  our 
progenitors,  and  marking  the  hand  of  God,  the  won 
der-working  Providence  of  an  Almighty  Being,  in 
conducting  their  elevation  or  their  downfall;  and 
perhaps  of  their  alternate  exaltation  and  abasement. 
Aside  from  this,  there  will  be  a  charm  to  posterity, 
in  the  history  of  even  the  most  humble  of  our  an 
cestors,  who  lived  in  the  times  that  "  tried  men's 
souls."  To  them  it  will  probably  one  day  be  as  great 
a  wonder,  as  it  has  been  to  other  nations  of  the  earth, 
that  a  people  unskilled  in  war,  trained  only  to  the 
arts  of  peace,  and  the  great  mass  to  that  most  peace- 


PREFACE.  T 

ful  of  all  employments,  agriculture,  should  have 
been  able  to  cope  with  a  great  and  warlike  nation, 
and  be  successful  in  throwing  off  the  yoke  of  power. 

And  there  will  be  another  wonder,  too — and  that, 
that  after  being  trained  in  a  camp,  and  inured  to  the 
horrors  of  all-destroying  war,  each  citizen  could 
again  cheerfully  return  to  his  fireside,  to  the  shades 
of  private  life,  and  beating  swords  into  plow-shares 
and  spears  into  pruning-hooks,  set  down  content 
in  obscurity,  unmindful  of  or  disregarding  the 
honor  and  emoluments  which  in  all  other  countries 
are  considered  as  the  reward  of  the  brave;  and  form 
in  reality,  the  laurels  of  victory.  Their  characters 
will  then  have  acquired  a  due  estimate,  and  every 
thing  relating  to  the  private  history  of  even  the  most 
obscure  individual  among  them,  will  become  intense 
ly  interesting. 

And  why  not  of  private  individuals!  It  is  to  the 
common  soldier  and  sailor  that  our  country  is  indebt 
ed  for  its  freedom,  as  all  its  great  Generals  have 
been  willing  to  acknowledge.  We  have  seen  proof 
of  this  in  the  present  day,  when,  (to  name  one  in 
stance  out  of  a  hundred,)  what  would  have  become 
of  New-Orleans,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  common 
soldier]  Vain  would  have  been  the  skill  of  their 
Commander.  Yes,  all  in  vain  would  the  energies  of 
his  powerful  and  fearless  spirit  have  exerted  them- 


\'l  PREFACE. 

selves,  if  his  brave  volunteers  had  not  stood  by  him. 
Useless  the  foresight  and  the  firmness  which  had 
detected  and  destroyed  the  combination  of  foes  with 
out  and  treachery  within,  without  their  prompt  co 
operation  and  dauntless  resolution  in  the  day  of  bat 
tle.  And  the  greatest  General  of  our  age  himself 
affirmed  it. 

Every  account,  too,  of  the  heroism  of  our  fair 
countrywomen,  cannot  fail  at  all  times  of  accept 
ance.  We  know  that  in  the  period  of  the  Revolu 
tion,  one  spirit  actuated  all  classes  and  both  sexes — 
and  though  we  were  not  driven  to  the  extremity  of 
having  women  take  the  field — yet  we  may  be  assur 
ed,  that  the  encouragement  which  the  language  and 
manners  of  females  held  out  to  perseverance  in  those 
times  of  trial,  had  a  great  influence  on  society;  and 
had  occasion  called  for  it,  we  should  have  seen  them 
rivalling  the  females  of  antiquity,  and  exhibiting  the 
same  spirit  that  characterized  the  women  of  France, 
during  the  reign  of  terror,  and  of  still  more  suffering 
Greece. 

The  history  of  a  humble  and  obscure  individual 
may  serve  for  an  exemplification.  The  first  story  in 
this  book  was  penned  from  a  relation  given  by  an 
aged  woman,  whose  adventures  had  often  been  spo 
ken  of  as  furnishing  a  wonderful  page  in  the  romance 
of  real  life.  She  was  seventy-six  years  old  when  it 


PREFACE.  Vil 

was  taken,  in  the  year  1823.  Since  this  time  her 
statement  has  been  confirmed  by  many  communica 
tions  to  the  Author,  and  by  a  packet  of  papers  which 
has  fallen  into  her  hands.  Some  of  the  facts,  how 
ever,  the  writer  was  previously  acquainted  with,  and 
several  things  in  the  life  of  the  Narrator  had  been 
particularly  described  many  years  since,  by  some  of 
those  who  have  long  been  inhabitants  of  the  eternal 
world.  She  herself  has  now  been  dead  several  years; 
her  plain,  unvarnished  Story  lies  before  me,  and  it 
would  be  quite  a  curiosity  to  give  it  in  the  language 
of  olden  time,  with  all  the  quaint  and  curious  re 
marks  which  her  truly  original  mind  suggested. — 
But  as  her  story  is  somewhat  broken,  and  the  blanks 
have  been  filled  up  by  other  persons,  I  shall  not  at 
tempt  to  introduce  it  in  her  style. 


TALE  FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 


NARRATIVE  OF  ROSANNA  EDDY. 

"  Ob  Solitude,  where  are  the  charms 

"  Which  sages  have  seen  in  Uiy  lace? 
"  Better  dwell  in  the   midst  of  alarms, 

"  Thau  to  reigu  in  this  horrible  place." 

ABOUT  one  hundred  years  ago,  there  resided  in 
the  town  of  Warwick,  (R.  I.)  a  poor  but  honest 
man,  of  the  name  of  Hicks.  He  was  the  owner  of  a 
small  farm,  which  constituted  all  his  worldly  posses 
sions,  if  we  except  an  industrious  wife  and  two  small 
children.  The  farm,  if  such  it  could  be  called,  be 
ing  a  very  small  plat  of  land,  with  industry  and  econ 
omy,  in  that  simple  age,  would  have  comfortably 
supported  them,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  near 
neighborhood  of  the  tribe  of  Narragansett  Indians, 
whose  continual  though  petty  depredations  was  a 
source  of  endless  vexation  and  impoverishment,  to 
those  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  nearest  to  them. 
It  was  true  the  voice  of  war  was  no  longer  heard  on 
their  borders.  The  Pequods  and  Narragansetts  had 
glutted  themselves  with  blood,  to  the  almost  total  ex 
termination  of  one  tribe,  a  general  peace  reigned  at 
this  time,  and  the  bloody  tomahawk  and  deadly  hatch 
et  seemed  buried  forever.  Yet  the  inhabitants  could 


10l  TAf-ES NATIONAL 

n<>t  forg?e«  what  had  be^n,  and  the  aggressions  of  the 
Narraganseits  were  therefore  winked  at.  No  one 
seemed  inclined  to  arouse  the  latent  spirit  of  revenge. 
When  therefore  any  of  them  chose  to  walk  into  a 
potato  plat  or  cornfield,  and  load  themselves  with 
the  produce,  the  general  method  used  to  be  to  keep 
out  of  sight;  for  as  none  of  the  white  inhabitants 
could  look  upon  and  tolerate  such  thieving,  and  they 
dared  not  punish  it,  the  only  way  was  not  to  know 
it.  There  were  some,  however,  upon  whom  these 
depredations  fell  hard,  and  poor  Mr.  Hicks  was  one, 
and  he  had  for  some  time  resolved  upon  removing. 
There  was  but  one  thing  that  caused  him  to  hesitate, 
and  that  was  that  all  his  wife's  connections  resided 
in  their  vicinity.  Many  of  them  had  been  very  kind 
to  him,  and  particularly  a  farmer  who  had  married 
his  wife's  sister,  by  name  Oliver  Read.  This  man 
was  poor  like  himself,  though  not  like  him  the 
son  of  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Read's  father  having  emi 
grated  from  England  many  years  before,  with  a  con 
siderable  fortune,  which  he  had  wantonly  dissipated 
in  luxury  and  extravagance.  I  think  he  closed  his 
career  in  Newport,  (R.  I.)  but  in  what  year  I  have 
forgotten,  leaving  three  sons,  Eleazer,  John  and 
Oliver,  pennyless,  to  be  brought  up  as  chance  should 
direct,  or  as  the  vulgar  saying  is,  "  to  scramble  for 
themselves."  The  three  boys  proved  to  be  indus 
trious,  prudent  and  thriving  young  men,  and  many 
of  their  descendants  are  now  Jiving  about  the  State, 
and  are  among  its  most  respectable  inhabitants. 

Mr.  Read  resolved  upon  removing  to  Newport, 
and  persuaded  Mr.  Hicks  to  accompany  him;  but  he 
hearing  there  wras  at  this  time  a  proclamation  made 
by  one  Mr.  Ludlow  for  settlers  on  Cape  May, 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  11 

offering  the  liberal  recompense  of  two  thirds  of  all 
land  cleared  and  reduced  to  a  state  of  cultivation, 
resolved  to  go  thither.  Accordingly,  somewhere 
between  the  years  1730  and  '40,  after  stirring  up  a 
number  of  families  in  Warwick  to  embark  with  him 
in  the  enterprise,  they  set  sail. 

The  Cape  was  indeed  a  wilderness,  and  although 
Mr.  Ludlow  himself  had  a  large  house,  and  a  con 
siderable  number  of  slaves,  they  had  made  but  little 
improvement  in  the  lands,  except  in  his  immediate 
vicinity.  The  new  emigrants  found  themselves  in 
troduced  into  the  midst  of  a  cedar  swamp,  where 
they  reared  log  huts  and  commenced  clearing  the  land. 
The  most  perfect  solitude  reigned  throughout  the 
tract  which  the  settlers  now  disturbed  for  the  first 
time  with  the  sound  of  the  axe  and  the  hammer. 
They  soon  found  they  had  more  formidable  foes  to 
encounter  than  even  the  fierce  Narragansetts.  The 
swamp  was  infested  by  bears,  wolves  and  cata 
mounts,  who,  although  they  did  not  disturb  them 
much  in  the  day,  never  failed  to  prowl  round  their 
dwellings  by  night,  disturbing  their  slumbers  by  their 
terrific  howls,  and  vain  attempts  to  enter.  Besides 
this,  the  place  was  beset  with  hosts  of  musketoes, 
which  obliged  them  to  keep  up  a  continual  smoke 
round  the  house.  Every  night  each  settler  lighted  a 
pile  of  brush  wood  to  keep  off  the  wild  beasts,  and 
serve  as  an  additional  protection  to  other  modes  of 
defence.  But  adopt  what  expedients  they  might, 
the  nightly  serenade  long  continued  to  disturb  them; 
and  often  they  were  awakened  too,  by  the  crawling 
lizard,  dragging  its  cold,  slimy  body  over  their  faces 
or  hands  several  times.  When  awakened  in  this 
manner,  they  discovered  to  their  infinite  terror,  a 


12  TALES — NATIONAL 

wolf  or  some  other  wild  animal  looking  down  the 
chimney  hole;  and  the  repetition  of  this  alarm,  at 
length  convinced  them  there  must  be  some  secret 
instinct,  that  caused  this  little  animal  to  warn  them 
on  the  approach  of  danger.* 

The  several  families  that  emigrated  from  Warwick 
refused  to  place  their  huts  remote  from  each  other; 
they  therefore  erected  them  within  short  distances, 
and  formed  in  the  centre  of  the  little  settlement  a 
common  enclosure  for  their  cattle.  Sometimes  they 
were  let  out  to  graze,  and  they  could  not  but  observe 
with  admiration  the  instinct  of  these  creatures,  in 
making  for  the  burning  pile,  (which  was  never  suf 
fered  to  go  out,  night  or  day,)  when  pursued  by  wild 
beasts.  On  one  occasion,  as  some  of  the  emigrants 
were  sitting  in  the  door  of  their  hut  in  the  cool  of  the 
day,  they  were  alarmed  by  the  approach  of  the  cat 
tle;  the  whole  came  flying  past,  followed  by  an  ox 
with  a  catamount  on  his  back;  his  talons  were  fas 
tened  in  the  flesh,  and  he  was  gnawing  off  the  ox's 
tail,  which  he  had  nearly  devoured.  The  tormented 
animal  sprung  into  the  burning  brush,  when  the  cat 
amount  fled. 

Mr.  Ludlow  occasionally  gave  great  assistance  toi 
the  new  settlers,  but  the  difficulties  were  so  great  as 
to  dishearten  many.  The  plague  of  most  new  coun 
tries,  the  fever  and  ague,  soon  made  its  appearance 
among  them;  several  died  with  it,  and  others  linger 
ing,  came  off  in  search  of  health.  In  about  three 
years,  two  or  three  families  discouraged,  moved  back 

*  They  were  probably  right  in  supposing  it.  There 
have  been  instances  of  the  sagacity  of  this  little  creature 
related  by  settlers  in  our  Western  wilds,  that  ccrtainlj 
challenge  belief.  They  called  them  Swifts. 


*ND    REVOLUTIONARY.  13 

again  to  Warwick;  but  their  places  were  soon  filled 
by  others,  and  emigrants  from  different  States  soon 
began  to  settle  in  their  vicinity.  Still  their  lonely 
and  isolated  situation  subjected  them  to  many  diffi 
culties.  By  a  singular  providence,  however,  the  fam 
ily  of  Mr.  Hicks  were  the  only  ones  who  entirely  es 
caped  the^fever  arid  ague;  and  this  was  extraordi 
nary,  as  the^  were  more  exposed-  Jp"  the  damp  of 
night  than  most  of  their  neighboggri.f--Mrs.  Hicks  be 
ing  one  of  those  kind,  bene^pnt  women  who  are 
always  ready  to  attend  the  sicK  and  afflicted,  she  was 
frequently  summoned  from  her  bed  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  to  minister  to  the  diseased.  On  one  occasion 
she  was  sent  for  to  visit  a  sick  child  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  at  a  residence  a  mile  off.  They  had  to 
cross  the  swamp  upon  a  kind  of  bridge  of  brush 
wood  piled  several  feet  high,  and  to  pick  their  way 
with  lighted  pitch  knots,  which  served  the  double 
purpose  of  a  guide  and  defence  from  wilo^  animals. 
With  all  the  dispatch  they  could  use,  the  child  was 
dead  long  before  they  got  there,  and  the  afflicted 
mother,  who  was  entirely  alone  with  it,  despairing 
of  human  help,  had  laid  it  out  with  her  own  hands. 
In  after  life,  Mrs.  Hicks  used  frequently  to  speak 
of  the  instances  of  fortitude  and  presence  of  mind 
whic.h  she  witnessed  during  her  residence  at  the 
Cape,  and  to  relate  this  anecdote. 

During  their  residence  there,  which  I  think  was 
about  ten  years,  the  settlers  had  brought  a  large 
tract  of  land  into  a  state  of  cultivation,  built  many 
very  decent  houses,  and  seen  the  neighborhood 
grow  up  and  flourish.  But  many  of  them,  and  Mr. 
Hicks  among  the  number,  had  failed  to  get  attach  - 
«d  to  the  place,  and  was  determined  not  to  spend 


14  TALES — NATIONAL 

his  days  there.  He  therefore  resolved  to  remove 
and  induced  by  the  persuasions  of  Mr.  Read, 
who  had  now  been  several  years  settled  in  New 
port,  he  resolved  upon  removing  thither. 

With  some  difficulty  he  disposed  of  his  house 
and  land  for  a  very  moderate  compensation,  and 
expended  the  sum  in  the  purchase  of  a  small  brig 
at  New-York,  which  he  loaded  with  cedar  lumber 
at  the  Cape,  and  proceeded  with  his  family,  and 
one  or  two  others,  who  went  as  passengers,  to 
Newport. 

Before  the  little  vessel  had  been  out  twenty-four 
hours,  a  storm  overtook  her,  in  which  they  were 
drifted  about  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves, 
the  vessel  having  parted  her  cables  and  lost  her 
anchor:  their  lumber  too  was  obliged  to  be  all 
thrown  overboard.  But  at  length  they  arrived  at 
Newport,  pennyless,  and  in  a  most  shattered  con 
dition. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

1 '  Poor,  yet  industrious,  modest,  quiet,  neat, 
"  Such  claim  compassion  in  a  night  like  this, 
"  And  have  a  frieud  in  every  feeling  heart." 

Cowper. 

WORN  out  with  terror,  exposure,  and  bodily  suf 
fering,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Hicks,  attended  with  a  young 
family  of  children,  presented  themselves  in  the  dusk 
of  the  evening  at  the  hospitable  door  of  Mr.  Read, 
and  were  received  with  that  cheering  welcome,  and 
frank  hospitality  so  characteristic  of  the  times.  Mr. 
Hicks  had  become  almost  discouraged,  but  his 
friends  in  Newport  continued  to  soothe  him,  and 
teach  him  to  look  for  better  days.  The  family  of 
Mr.  Read  inhabited  a  small  one  story  house,  which 
might  well  be  called  a  cottage,  near  the  first  beach  in 
R.  Island,  and  close  to  a  windmill;  which  is  still  stand 
ing,  though  the  cottage  has  long  since  disappeared. 
There  was  very  little  room  in  the  building  for  the 
accommodation  of  guests,  but  no  apologies  or  com 
plaints  of  hard  fare  were  ever  heard  from  the  lips  of 
its  inmates.  The  family  of  Mr.  Hicks  with  their 
brood  of  little  children  were  carefully  stowed  away, 
and  beneath  their  hospitable  roof  Rosanna  their 
youngest  child,  and  the  narrator  of  this  story  was 
born  in  a  few  days  after  their  landing. 

With  the  greatest  tenderness  Mrs.  Read  nursed 
and  attended  her  sick  sister,  and  her  family  until  her 
restoration  to  health,  and  the  settlement  of  her  hus- 


16  TALES NATIONAL 

band,  who  made  out  to  dispose  of  the  dismasted  brig, 
and  finding  a  tenement  in  the  neighborhood,  procur 
ed  such  work  as  he  could  do.  At  the  birth  of  little 
Rosanna,  Mrs.  Read,  who  named  her  after  herself, 
adopted  her  as  her  own,  and  agreed  to  receive  her  as 
soon  as  she  should  be  old  enough  to  take  her  from 
her  mother,  as  an  inmate  of  her  family,  and  to  bring 
her  up  with  her  own  daughter  Amey.  Accordingly 
she  received  her  from  her  mother,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years, and  tho1  they  were  poor,  Mr.  Read  then  sub 
sisting  by  tending  the  mill  which  he  had  hired,  they 
never  had  cause  to  repent  of  it.  They  were  amply 
rewarded  by  her  faithful  services  and  the  attachment 
afterwards  manifested  towards  every  branch  of  their 
family. 

The  oldest  daughter  of  Mr.  Hicks  was  taken  by 
a  relation  in  Warwick,  where  she  was  soon  married 
to  an  excellent  young  man;  she  there  became  a  mem 
ber  of  what  was  called  the  English  Church,  and  "dur 
ing  the  few  years  she  lived,  exhibited  an  example  of 
piety  which  seemed  much  above  this  world — and  it 
undoubtedly  was,  as  she  was  suddenly  summoned  to 
a  better,  just  after  the  birth  of  her  first  child.  Her 
descendants  by  that  child,  a  daughter,  still  live  in  the 
town  of  Warwick.  Several  of  their  friends  and, 
connections  continued  their  kindness  to  Mr.  Hicks 
and  family  during  the  past  years  of  their  life,  but 
the  hardships  and  losses  of  the  early  part  of  it  dis 
couraged  him,  and  he  continued  a  poor  man  to  the 
end  of  his  days. 

Rosa  in  the  mean  time  grew  up  under  the  hos 
pitable  roof  of  her  aunt  Read.  She  was,  though 
treated  with  much  kindness,  always  obliged  to  work 
hard;  they  sometimes  had  a  large  family,  having  sev- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  17 

tral  times  attempted  to  take  boarders,  and  their 
daughter,  who  always  had  delicate  health,  was  of  but 
little  assistance  to  her  mother  in  the  domestic  way. 
The  first  real  trouble  of  Rosa,  was  the  loss  of  her 
kind  protector  and  second  father,  Mr.  Read,  who 
was  suddenly  called  from  time  to  eternity,  a  few 
years  after  her  residence  in  the  family. 

Previous  to  this  event,  Rosa  had  been  addressed 
by  a  young  man  in  the  neighborhood,  whose  preten 
sions  Mr.  Read  warmly  opposed,  and  finally  forbid 
Rosa  admitting  him  to  the  house ;  she  accordingly 
desired  the  young  man  to  stay  away  and  aTowed  her 
determination  to  conform  to  the  wishes  of  her  guard 
ian  with  respect  to  choosing  a  husband.  Soon  after 
this  Mr.  Read  was  one  day  affected  with  a  slight  in 
disposition,  and  leaving  some  one  to  take  his  place 
at  the  mill,  remained  sitting  by  the  fireside.  Rosa 
had  been  preparing  some  broth  for  him,  when  after 
drinking  it,  he  began  to  question  her  with  respect  to 
the  admission  of  her  lover  to  the  house  the  night  be 
fore.  Rosa  protested  her  innocence  of  all  clandes 
tine  interviews,  and  particularly  of  the  indecency  of 
admitting  him  into  the  house  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  Mr.  Read  then  said  "  it  was  strange,  he  had 
heard  some  one  twice  walk  heavily  across  the  great 
room  floor  during  the  night,  and  he  was  sure  no  one 
could  get  in  unless  they  had  been  admitted  by  some 
of  the  family" — which  was  then  small  containing  only 
himself,  wife  and  daughter,  with  Rosa.  Resenting 
the  suspicion  which  she  saw  had  fastened  itself  on 
his  mind,  Rosa  then  turned  hastily  round,  and  was 
walking  away,  when  she  heard  the  spoon  drop,  and 
looking  round,  saw  he  had  fallen  back  in  his  chair.^- 
She  flew  to  him,  but  death  had  done  his  work  at  a 


18  TALES NATIONAL 

blow,  life  was  entirely  gone,  and  all  the  efforts  of 
his  distressed  family  to  recover  him  were  ineffectual. 
A  physician  was  immediately  called,  who  declared 
human  help  was  vain,  and  pronounced  his  death  to 
have  been  occasioned  by  the  rising  of  the  lights. 

There  now  was  an  opportunity  for  Rosa  to  man 
ifest  her  gratitude  in  efforts  to  console  and  support 
her  afflicted  aunt,  and  they  were  not  wanting.  Mrs. 
Read  had  a  son  Oliver  Read  who  followed  the  seas, 
and  who  avowed  his  determination  to  support  the 
family,  and  never  to  part  with  his  mother.  And  her 
daughter  Amey  was  soon  married  to  Mr.  George 
Brown,  of  Providence,  and  removed  thither;  about 
the  same  time  Oliver  married  a  poor,  but  very  beau 
tiful  girl  by  the  name  of  Mary  Sherman,  and  took 
his  mother  into  his  family.  Mrs.  Brown  insisted 
upon  taking  Rosa  with  her.  Previous  however,  to  the 
marriage  of  Capt.  Read,  Rosa  had  the  happiness  of 
saving  his  life  (to  speak  after  the  manner  of  men.) 

Capt.  Read  was  seized  with  a  violent  fever,  which 
soon  arrived  at  the  crisis.  The  physicians,  as  was 
the  custom  in  those  days,  forbid  his  having  a  drop 
of  cold  water,  and  protested  it  would  be  almost  in 
stant  death.  On  the  day  that  the  fever  had  got  to 
its  height,  he  lay  apparently  dying ;  his  parched  lips 
and  swollen  tongue  were  nearly  black;  and  as  he  had 
become  speechless,  Mrs.  Read  and;,her  daughter  un 
able  to  endure  the  sight  of  his  last  agonies,  had  re 
tired  to  an  inner  room  and  consigned  him  to  the 
care  of  Rosa.  She  then  thinking  him  dying,  resolved 
to  try  an  experiment,  which  her  own  excellent  judg 
ment  had  suggested  before,  but  it  was  forbidden ; 
hastily  snatching  a  pitcher,  she  ran  to  a  spring  a  lit 
tle  distance  from  the  house  and  filled  it,  then  care- 


AiVU    REVOLUTIONARY.  19 

fully  wetting  his  lips,  she  poured  in  a  few  drops  from 
a  tea-spoon,  successively,  until  with  great  difficulty 
he  swallowed  it ;  she  persevered  in  her  efforts  until 
he  was  enabled  to  articulate  the  word  "more"  in  a 
faint  whisper;  when  gently  raising  his  head,  she  held 
a  tumhler  to  his  lips,  and  to  her  inexpressible  de 
light  he  swallowed  the  whole  of  it;  in  a  few  mo 
ments  he  asked  for  more ;  and  Rosa  gave  him  freely 
as  much  as  he  wanted ;  but  she  was  terribly  fright 
ened  after,  as  for  a  minute  or  two  he  appeared  en 
tirely  gcme;  and  Rosa  putting  her  hand  to  see  if 
his  heart  beat,  perceived  he  was  in  an  intense  per 
spiration.  She  called  in  Mrs.  Read  and  her  daugh 
ter,  when  he  soon  began  to  revive,  and  was  able 
to  speak,  "  Rosa  has  saved  my  life"  were  the 
first  words.  The  physician  happened  just  then  to 
call  in,  who  pronounced  the  fever  broke,  and  the 
patient  in  a  fairway  of  recovery.  They  then  found 
out  what  she  had  done,  and  the  Doctor  was  candid 
enough  to  say,  it  undoubtedly  had  been  the  means 
of  saving  the  patient. 


20  TALES — NATIONAL 

CHAPTER    III. 

NARRATIVE    CONTINUED. 

L.IFE  OP  CAPTAIN  OLIVER  READ. 

"  I  look'd,  and  clad  in  early  light, 
"The  spires  of  Boston  rose  to  sight: 
"While  morn  o'er  eastern  hills  afar, 
"  Illum'd  the  varying  scenes  of  war  ; 
"  Each  summit  far  as  eye  commands, 
"  Shone  peopled  with  rebellious  bands." 

Trumbull. 

THE  narrative  of  Rosa  has  so  connected  the  his 
tory  of  Capt.  Read  and  family  with  her  own  event 
ful  life,  that  I  know  not  how  to  separate  them. — 
Yet  most  of  the  succeeding  chapters  relate  to  the  af 
fairs  of  her  brave  and  heroic  relative,  and  the  suffer 
ings  of  his  family. 

After  Capt.  Read's  marriage,  Rosa  departed  with 
Mrs.  Brown  to  Providence.  There  she  continued 
to  reside,  with  occasional  visits  to  her  aunt  and  cous 
in  in  Newport.  Capt.  Read  continued  to  occupy  the 
small  cottage  near  the  mill,  which  belonged  to  his 
mother,  and  successfully  to  follow  the  seas,  until  the 
commencement  of  the  revolutionary  war  :  that  event 
found  him  in  the  bosom  of  a  happy  family,  consist 
ing  of  his  venerable  mother,his  wife  and  four  children; 
but  there  was  now  an  end  to  tranquillity. — Capt. 
Read  had  long  foreseen  the  approaching  contest,  and 
such  were  his  sentiments  respecting  the  existing  dif- 


AM)    REVOLUTIONARY.  21 

<~erence  between  the  two  countries,  and  his  hatred 
of  every  thing  like  oppression,  that  it  might  almost 
be  said  he  "burned  for  the  fight."  Let  it  not  be 
supposed  from  this  that  he  was  not  a  peaceable  man, 
for  that  was  eminently  the  case  in  private  life  ;  al 
though  a  man  of  great  spirit  and  undaunted  resolu 
tion,  he  was  in  general  very  forbearing.  It  was  only 
towards  the  foes  of  his  country  that  he  discovered 
any  tiling  like  an  uncompromising  spirit,  and  as  his 
anxious  family  had  foreboded,  the  first  call  to  arms 
found  him  ready.  The  mustering  of  the  army  at 
Roxbury,  was  the  signal  for  him  to  be  off. 

By  various  hindrances  of  a  domestic  nature,  Capt. 
Read  was  prevented  from  sitting  out  for  head  quar 
ters  until  within  a  few  days  oi  the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill.  The  delay  cost  him  much  vexation  :  and 
news  which  arrived  from  day  to  day  continued  to 
increase  it.  The  account  of  the  two  skirmishes  on 
Noodle's  Isl  »nd,  and  of  Fettkk's  and  Deer's  Island 
a  few  days  after,  inflamed  his  patriotism  to  the  high 
est  pitch,  particularly  as  every  oi.e  felt  persuaded  it 
was  only  the  prelude  to  a  greater  effort.  At  length 
it  was  rumored  that  the  British  designed  to  force  the 
intrenchments  at  Roxbury  and  proceed  up  the  coun 
try.  This  alarming  intelligence  hastened  his  de 
parture,  and  like  the  war  horse  that  smells  the  bat 
tle  from  afar,  "he  could  be  restrained  no  longer, 
but  decided  immediately  to  set  out.  As  he  drew 
near  the  scene  of  action,  the  roads  were  lined  with  pa 
triotic  spirits,  who  learning  the  danger,  had  set  out 
like  himself  as  volunteers  in  the  °reat  cause,  though 
not  like  himself  had  left  the  peaceable  employments 
of  agriculture,  to  defend  the  soil  of  which  they 
were  proprietors.  With  "leathern  apron,  and  rusty 


22  TALES NATIONAL 

gun,"  many  of  these  rural  warriors  looked  like  any 
thing  except  soldiers.  However  their  appearance 
might  strike,  the  veteran  seaman  as  he  occasionally 
joined  their  company,  he  found  they  were  not  lacking 
in  spirit,  and  knowledge  of  the  rights  they  were  de 
fending  ;  for 

"  Patriotism  with  torch  addrest, 

Had  fired  with  zeal  each  loyal  breast." 

Unambitious  of  any  distinction  save  that  of  fight 
ing  in  his  country's  cause,  Capt.  Read  had  set  out 
to  offer  himself  as  a  volunteer ;  but  among  the  num 
bers  of  those  who  were  now  offering  in  the  same 
way  from  various  places,  a  company  was  hastily 
formed,  and  he  appointed  an  officer  in  it,  what  the 
office  was,  the  writer  has  forgotten.  The  events  of 
the  campaign  are  of  more  importance. 

Whether  it  was  because  the  British  discovered 
the  Americans  were  apprised  of  the  contemplated 
attack  on  their  intrenchments  at  Roxbury,  or  from 
some  other  circumstance,  Gen.  Gage  thought  fit  to 
remain  two  days  longer  in  statu  quo,  and  during 
this  time,  the  Americans  failed  not  to  take  advantage 
of  the  delay,  and  strengthen  their  intrenchments. 
They  also  concentrated  their  artillery  and  reinforced 
this  part  of  the  army  with  all  the  militia  of  the  adja 
cent  country.  Had  not  this  inaction  of  two  days  on 
the  part  of  the  enemy  here  given  time  to  strengthen 
the  forces  in  this  quarter,  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill 
would  never  have  been  fought.  For  they  immedi 
ately  abandoned  all  thoughts  of  an  attack  in  this 
quarter  and  directed  their  views  towards  the  penin 
sula  and  neck  of  Charlestown.  Orders  were  there 
fore  given  to  Col.  William  Prcscott  to  fortify  the 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  23 

heights  of  Bunkers  Hill,  which  commanded  the  en 
trance  of  the  peninsula. 

By  some  unaccountable  mistake,  Col.  Prescott  se 
lected  Breeds  Hill,  farther  out  in  the  peninsula,  and 
much  nearer  to  Boston,  and  so  near  their  garrison  as 
to  reduce  the  two  parties  to  the  necessity  of  coming 
to  action  immediately.  Various  opinions  have  been 
hazarded  as  to  the  consequences  of  this  mistake. 
Some  have  urged  that  the  coolness  of  the  Americans 
on  taking  a  position  so  near  the  enemy  was  of  great 
er  advantage  to  them  than  the  superior  security  of 
their  position  would  have  been  on  Bunkers  Hill. 
Others  consider  it  as  a  great  error.  The  intrepid 
ity  of  our  gallant  countrymen  was  however  display 
ed  in  the  greatest  possible  light  in  such  a  desperate 
undertaking.  It  is  known  that  they  succeeded 
by  the  greatest  activity  in  constructing  a  fortification 
capable  of  affording  them  shelter,  during  the  night, 
and  that  the  labor  was  conducted  with  such  silence, 
that  the  enemy  were  not  apprised  of  it  until  morning. 
It  was  first  discovered  by  the  Capt.  of  an  English 
man  of  war,  lying  near  the  entrance  of  the  harbor. 
The  report  aroused  the  inhabitants  of  Boston,  and 
displayed  to  their  astonished  eyes  the  near  neighbor 
hood  of  the  Provincials.  It  was  from  the  guns  of  this 
ship  that  the  first  American  was  killed:  his  name  was 
Gustavus  Mumford  of  Greenwich  (R.  I.)  He  was,  I 
believe,  an  Ensign,  and  had  been  followed  to  the 
camp  the  night  before,  by  a  most  affectionate  wife, 
who  was  willing  to  brave  all  dangers  in  order  to  be 
near  her  husband  in  the  day  of  battle,  and  in  case  he 
should  be  wounded,  to  succor  him,  and  nurse  him 
with  such  care  and  tenderness  as  she  judged  no 
other  person  could.  The  poor  creature  was  destined 


24  TALES NATIONAL 

to  receive  to  her  arms  his  headless  trunk,  even  the 
day  before  the  battle.  He  was  looking  over  the  par 
apet  when  his  head  was  shot  off  by  one  of  the  guns  of 
the  enemy.  It  is  not  our  business  to  give  a  particu 
lar  history  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  (as  it  will 
always  be  called,)  but  of  Breed's  Hill  in  reality. — 
The  "courage  of  the  Provincials,  as  they  were  then 
called  ;  and  their  fortitude  in  continuing  their  labors 
on  the  fortification  through  the  whole  of  that  peril 
ous  day,  placed  immediately  as  they  were,  under  the 
artillery  of  the  enemy,  who  rained  down  upon  them 
a  tempest  of  bombs  and  balls,  is  too  well  known  to 
need  description  here. 

The  attack  upon  Breed's  Hill  it  is  known,  was 
commenced  upon  the  17th  of  June,  between  12  and 
1  o'clock,  in  a  tremendously  hot  day — nevertheless 
every  person  capable  of  leaving  their  houses,  even 
the  most  delicate  females,  were  out — the  "  hills  from 
whence  the  dread  arena  could  be  viewed,  were  cov 
ered  with  swarms  of  spectators  ;  the  Bostonians,  and 
the  soldiers  not  in  actual  service  were  mounted  upon 
the  spires,  the  roofs,  and  the  heights,"  to  view  the 
dreadful  conflict.  And  when  after  the  retreat  of  the 
Americans,  from  the  peninsula  of  Charlestown,  who 
left  finding  they  were  liable  to  be  cut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  army,  had  given  place  to  the  British  who 
immediately  fired  it — was  discovered — one  universal 
wail  was  heared  from  roof  to  roof,  and  house  to 
house,  among  the  imprisoned  inhabitants  of  Bos 
ton. 

This  wanton  act  of  barbarity  of  the  English,  which 
was  of  no  use  to  them,  as  the  wind  turned  the  smoke 
and  flames  in  a  contrary  direction,  served  but  to 
exasperate  the  Provincials  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
rage. 


AND    REVOLUTIONAHT.  25 

The  gradual  advance  of  the  enemy  and  the  ex 
treme  clearness  of  the  air  enabled  the  Provincials 
to  level  their  muskets  with  much  effect ;  they  how 
ever  permitted  them  to  approach  quite  near,  and 
waited  the  assault  in  profound  tranquillity.  But 
now  a  severe  and  bloody  engagement  commenced ; 
the  Americans  having  all  the  advantage  of  position, 
mowed  down  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  until  the 
field  of  battle  was  covered  with  the  bodies  of  their 
slain ;  and  they  retired  in  disorder  to  the  landing. 
In  the  mean  while  the  wind  continued  to  rise  until 
it  blew  furiously,  and  the  flames  of  Charlestown 
rose  to  a  great  height,  and  spread  each  moment 
more  and  more.  The  wailing  which  the  dreadful 
scene  occasioned  was  soon  succeeded  by  shouts, 
from  every  roof  and  height  in  Boston,  on  observ 
ing  the  retreat  of  the  foe.  Twice  were  they  repuls 
ed  with  great  slaughter,  and  retreated  tow'ards  the 
river,  notwithstanding  the  precautions,  and  even 
menaces  of  their  officers;  and  at  each  time  the  accla 
mations  of  captive  patriots  of  Boston  might  be  heard 
even  mingled  with  the  cries  of  the  wounded,  the 
groans  of  the  dying  and  the  continual  roar  of  ar 
tillery.  White  handkerchiefs  were  seen  waving  in 
every  direction,  and  when  the  retreat  of  the  foe 
was  observed  the  second  time,  so  great  was  the 
rejoicing,  that  females  many  of  them  tore  the  hand 
kerchiefs  from  their  necks,  and  even  fragments  of 
drapery  from  their  white  dresses  to  wave  them  in 
the  air  in  honor  of  the  victors.  (Could  the  Eng 
lish  have  witnessed  this  patriotism  of  the  females ; 
of  women  who  govern  the  world  after  all;  and 
ever  have  supposed  that  America  could  be  con 
quered!  ) 


26  TALES — NATIONAL 

From  the  summit  of  Copps'  Hill,  Clinton  beheld 
this  ebullition  of  patriotism  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  retreat  of  the  King's  army  on  the  other,  and 
fired  with  rage  and  shame,  he  immediately  descend 
ed  and  flew  to  "  the  rescue."  Animated  by  his 
persuasion  and  example,  and  the  fresh  succors  which 
he  brought  to  the  field,  they  once  more  renewed 
the  attack.  The  exhaustion  of  their  ammunition  alone 
caused  the  retreat  of  the  Americans;  they  had  not 
even  bayonets  to  defend  themselves  with,  neverthe 
less  they  continued  to  defend  themse  Ives,  with  the 
butt  end  of  their  muskets,  and  showering  down 
dirt  and  stones  upon  the  heads  of  the  assailants  un 
til  the  redoubt  was  nearly  full  of  men,  when  their 
General  was  obliged  to  give  the  signal  of  retreat. 
The  right  wing  of  the  army  still  continued  to  fight 
upon  the  bank  of  the  Mystic  river,  nor  lost  an 
inch  of  ground  until  the  redoubt  and  upper  part 
of  the  trench  were  in  the  power  of  the  enemy.  Their 
prolonging  the  fight  prevented  the  British  from  at 
tacking  the  main  body  in  the  rear,  when  they  must 
inevitably  either  have  been  cut  off  or  taken  pris 
oners.  Their  retreat  was  conducted  with  perfect 
order,  and  though  obliged  to  pass  through  a  raking 
fire  from  an  English  ship  and  two  floating  batte 
ries,  they  made  good  their  retreat  from  the  Isth 
mus  of  Charlestown,  without  any  considerable  loss 
of  life,  and  with  the  main  body  of  the  army 
marched  to  Prospect  Hill,  where  they  entrenched 
themselves.  The  British  taking  up  their  quarters 
on  Bunker  Hill,  both  parties,  for  the  present  sus- 
pen^iing  further  movements.  The  loss  of  the  British 
in  men,  must  have  been  very  great.  The  loss  of  the 
brave  Gen.  Warren,  of  many  worthy  men  also  that 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  27 

fell,  the  burning  of  Charlestown,  and  the  loss  of  field 
pieces,  &c.  obliged  to  be  left  on  Breed's  Hill,  al 
together  tended  greatly  to  exasperate  the  Americans, 
and  none  more  than  Capt.  Read,  who  now  march 
ed  to  Roxbury,  to  assist  in  strengthening  the  works 
there — there  they  worked  under  the  continual  fire  of 
the  British  from  the  garrison  of  Boston:  several  were 
carried  away  dead  each  day  from  the  works,  yet 
they  continued  to  labor  until  the  fortifications  were 
brought  to  the  desired  state.  This  with  the  idea  of 
their  suffering  countrymen  within  the  city,  many  of 
whom  were  literally  perishing  with  hunger,  and  who 
yet  were  not  permitted  to  come  out,  was  exceeding 
ly  trying  to  the  feelings  of  the  besiegers,  but  as  there 
was  a  necessity  of  starving  out  the  garrison,  they 
still  continued  to  harrass  them  in  skirmishes  when 
ever  they  attempted  to  come  out  for  forage  or  pro 
visions  ;  and  frequent  were  the  rencounters  between 
parties  of  each  army  on  occasions  of  this  kind. — 
Among  many  of  those,  the  subject  of  this  present 
memoir  distinguished  himself.  But  we  must  look 
back  to  Newport. 


ft  TALBi NATIONAL 


CHAPTER  IV. 

K  I  »ee  in  gloom's  tempestuous  stand, 
"  The  clouds  descending  o'er  the  land. 
"  I  hear  the  din  of  battle  fray, 
"  The  trump  of  horror  marks  its  way." 

PERHAPS  there  is  no  place  in  our  country,  that 
presented  so  delightful  a  prospect  to  the  eye  of  the 
traveller  as  Newport,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
war.  Its  situation,  every  one  knows,  is  unrivalled. 
Travellers  have  styled  it  the  "  Eden  of  America," 
and  we  have  reason  to  suppose,  that  in  its  then 
flourishing  state,  it  must  have  deserved  the  appel 
lation.  Every  person  of  note,  who  visited  the 
country,  failed  not  to  judge  for  himself;  and  New 
port  owed  much  to  the  strangers  of  wealth  and 
distinction,  who  made  it  their  temporary  abode. — 
The  streets  resounded  with  the  hum  of  business, 
and  the  sails  of  many  nations  whitened  the  capa 
cious  harbor,  from  which  one  of  the  most  en 
chanting  prospects  presented  itself.  The  land  ris 
ing  in  a  gentle  ascent  from  the  sea,  naturally 
fertile,  and  abounding  with  beautiful  seats  and 
grounds,  laid  out  in  English  style,  where  the  hand 
of  taste  and  cultivation  had  exerted  itself  to  the 
utmost,  to  embellish  what  nature  had  done  much 
for.  The  residences  of  the  great,  many  of  them 
more  resembling  palaces,  than  ordinary  habita 
tions — and  their  dazzling  equipages,  were  al 
ternately  seen  through  the  foliage,  or  sweep- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  29 

ing  through  the  streets,  in  all  the  vain  parade  of 
earthly  and  evanescent  splendor.  How  changed 
the  scene  in  a  few  short  years !  Who  that  has 
stood  beside  the  mouldering  pillar — and  seen  the 
fretted  roof  falling  piece  by  piece,  unheeded — who 
that  has  visited  the  desolate  apartments  where  once 
the  song  of  mirth  and  joy  went  round,  and  seen  the 
rank  grass  growing  on  the  lofty  step,  and  the  fine 
ly  wrought  ballustrade  corroding  with  rust  and 
neglect — but  has  dropped  a  tear  to  the  memory  of 
fallen  greatness,  of  buried  splendor  1*  But  to  re 
turn  from  the  state  of  society,  it  will  be  easy  to 
imagine,  that  the  friends  of  royalty  in  Newport 
were  very  numerous  at  the  commencement  of  the 
war,  and  although  from  its  naturally  exposed  sit 
uation,  and  the  entire  destitution  of  every  means 
of  defence ;  the  warmest  friends  of  liberty  could  have 
nothing  to  hope  for;  yet  it  may  be  questioned  if  Jack- 
son,and  all  his  brave  associates  had  been  there  to  guard 
it,  it  could  have  been  rescued — he  would  probably 
have  found  it  harder  work  to  put  down  treason 
here,  than  even  among  the  motley  population  of 

*  The  traces  of  their  manners  are  yet  discernible. — 
There  is  no  place  in  our  country  where  so  much  aris 
tocracy  still  prevails.  It  would  be  an  amusing  employ 
ment  (if  one  had  no  better  business,)  to  observe  the  pride 
of  pedigree  that  exists  beneath  many  a  roof  that  scarcely 
serves  as  a  shelter  to  its  inmates.  But  there  is  one  re 
deeming  point  in  their  character  worthy  of  notice,  and 
that  is,  the  very  little  respect  which  the  mere  possession 
of  property  alone  procures  here.  It  is  extremely  difficult 
for  persons  of  yesterday,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  with  all  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  '  of  riches,  to  worm  themselves 
into  what  is  called  good  society. 


80  TALES NATIONAL 

New-Orleans.  Many  had  the  honor  to  avow  their 
sentiments  openly,  and  not  a  few  left  the  country, 
and  their  property  to  confiscation.  But  treason 
still  lurked  behind,  and  informers  were  not  wanting 
here,  as  in  many  places,  to  give  notice  to  the  ene- 
iny,  "  when  and  where  to  strike.33  Peace  to  their 
ashes  !  Doubtless  they  lived  long  enough  to  be  con 
vinced  of  their  folly.  The  history  of  some  of 
them  is  written  in  blood. 

When  Capt.  Read  first  expressed  the  resolution 
to  join  the  army  at  Roxbury,  his  wife  and  many 
of  his  friends  remonstrated  with  him,  and  urged 
his  remaining  at  Newport,  as  the  danger  of  an  at 
tack  there  was  greater  than  at  almost  any  other 
place.  But  he  argued  the  resistance  of  the  few 
who  would  attempt  resistance,  would  be  unavail 
ing;  and  counselling  his  family,  in  case  of  alarm, 
to  depart  immediately  for  Providence,  and  giving 
them  some  general  directions  with  regard  to  their 
safety,  in  those  perilous  times,  he  departed. 

Of  course  there  were  not  many  days  passed  with 
out  successive  alarms,*  and  at  length  Wallace  and 
his  ships  made  their  appearance  off  the  harbor.  The 
bustle  of  alarm  was  universal;  but  Mrs.  Read,  who 
was  a  woman  of  singular  courage,  had  determined 
upon  remaining,  even  in  case  of  the  capture  of  the 
town,  although  their  house  was  in  one  of  the  most 
exposed  situations.  She  appeared  to  feel  no  fear, 
and  resolutely  kept  her  ground,  in  a  remote,  although 
exposed  place,  with  no  other  inhabitants  in  the 
building  with  her,  except  four  young  children  and  an 
old  man,  a  relative  of  the  family,  who  happened  to 

41  Admiral  Grave«   commanded. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  31 

be  a  lodger  with  them,  quite  superannuated.  The 
entreaties  and  remonstrances  of  her  friends  and  ac 
quaintance,  who  had  for  some  time  been  daily  de 
parting  from  the  Island,  availed  nothing. 

It  is  known  that  nothing  was  effected  by  the  block 
ade  of  Wallace,  except  creating  confusion.  This  he 
accomplished  in  an  eminent  degree,  parading  his 
ships  around  the  harbor,  and  daily  sending  threaten 
ing  messages  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  town;  the 
most  usual  of  which  was,  that  "  He  was  going  to 
burn  the  town  next  day."  At  length,  taking  his 
station  on  the  west  side  of  Conannicut  Island,  and 
dispersing  his  squadron  in  such  a  manner  as  com 
pletely  to  blockade  the  harbor,  he  seemed  to  be  in  a 
state  of  indecision,  either  as  was  supposed  waiting 
for  some  further  orders,  or  contemplating  the  best 
means  of  attack.  Families  still  continued  to  flock 
to  Providence,  through  means  of  passports;  but  it 
began  tOL  grow  very  difficult  to  procure  them.  It 
was  in  this  state  of  things  that  Mrs.  Brown  began  to 
be  seriously  alarmed  for  her  brother's  family,  and 
particularly  on  account  of  her  aged  mother.  But 
her  husband  being  away,  and  having  no  male  friend 
whom  she  could  send  to  their  relief,  she  despair 
ed  of  affording  them  any  assistance.  Rosanna 
Hicks  offered  to  go  for  them,  and  determined  to  take 
passage  in  a  row  galley,  commanded  by  Capt.  Elea- 
zer  Hill,  of  Greenwich,  which  was  then  about  to  go 
down  the  river,  and  attempt  a  private  communication 
with  Rhode-Island,  and  also  to  escape  the  squadron 
and  pass  out  of  the  harbor  in  the  night.  Mrs.  Brown 
objected,  thinking  their  undertaking  too  hazardous 
to  be  accompanied  by  a  female,  and  expressed  the 
dreadful  feelings  she  should  have  on  reflection,  if 


3  TALES NATIONAL 

she  permitted  her  to  go  in  a  vessel  which  would  pro 
bably  be  "  blown  to  the  bottom  before  she  reached 
there."  But  Rosa  was  not  to  be  daunted,  and  em 
barked  that  day  on  board  the  galley. 

They  proceeded  to  Greenwich,  where  they  were 
to  take  part  of  their  complement  of  men.  Here 
also  they  were  beset  by  a  female,  who  wished  to 
take  passage  to  Newport.  Soon  after  their  leaving 
Greenwich,  a  vessel  of  much  superior  force  hove  in 
sight,  which  Capt.  Hill  pronounced  to  be  English. 
It  was  evident  that  the  stranger,  whoever  she  was, 
would  soon  reach  them,  having  the  wind  in  her  fa 
vor,  and  being  to  appearance  a  very  swift  sailer.  A 
hasty  council  was  therefore  called,  as  to  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  The  words  "  Fight  her,  fight  Irer!" 
were  reiterated  on  every  side,  and  Capt.  Hill, 
charmed  by  the  intrepidity  of  his  little  band,  imme 
diately  commenced  clearing  for  action.  There  was 
one  dissentient  voice,  however:  The  female  from 
Greenwich  besought  and  implored,  and  offered  to  go 
on  her  knees,  "  that  there  might  not  be  any  fight 
ing."  Not  so  Rosa;  her  voice  was  loud  for  war. 
The  woman  from  Greenwich  finally  retired  into  the 
cock-pit,  where  she  hid  herself  among  some  pots  and 
kettles ;  her  screams  being  only  stopped  by  the  sai 
lors  protesting  "  they  would  throw  her  overboard." 
In  the  mean  time,  the  strange  vessel  had  eome  with 
in  hail,  but  did  not  choose  to  declare  her  quality. 
Rosa  entreated  to  have  some  employment,  and  upon 
Capt.  Hill's  saying  there  was  nothing  she  could  do, 
she -asked  if  "she  could  not  be  powder-monkey] " 
The  Captain  then  putting  a  basket  on  her  arm,  plac 
ed  her  in  office.  Preparations  were  then  made  for 
firing,  and  just  as  they  were  about  to  apply  the 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  33 

matches,  she  hoisted  American  colors,  and  announc 
ed  herself  as  a  prize  to  Capt  Munroe,  of  Providence. 
The  only  daughter  of  Mrs.  Brown  had  lately  mar 
ried  a  Mr.  Larchar,  of  Providence,  and  the  prize- 
master  that  now  came  alongside,  was  one  of  that 
family,  and  intimately  acquainted  with  Rosa.  They 
fired  him  a  salute,  and  he  declared  when  he  came 
alongside,  "  he  was  never  more  diverted  than  when 
he  descried  Rosa  standing  between  two  guns,  clap 
ping  her  hands  and  joining  the  cheers  of  the  crew." 
Favored  by  the  darkness  of  the  preceding  night,  Mr. 
Larchar  had  got  through  the  East  passage.* 

After  conferring  with  Mr.  Larchar,  Capt.  Hill 
proceeded  on  his  way,  and  after  various  manoeuvres, 
contrived  to  reach  the  place  of  appointment  during 
the  night,  take  in  his  men,  and  land  his  female  pas 
sengers,  and  immediately  departed.  The  female 
who  accompanied  Rosa  was  obliged  to  be  left  near 
the  shore;  she  had  been  dragged  out  of  the  cock-pit 
after  the  interview  with  the  prize-master,  in  a  woful 
state,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  passage  appeared 
more  dead  than  alive.  The  poor  creature  really 
thought,  when  she  heard  the  salutes  fired,  she  felt 
the  "shock  of  battle,"  and  lay  expecting  every  mo 
ment  to  hear  the  galley  blow  up,  or  at  least  to  be 

*  Tins  was  often  done  during  the  war,  and  while  R. 
Island  was  in  possession  of  the  British.  There  was  one 
circumstance  which  I  wish  I  was  acquainted  with  the 
particulars  of.  I  allude  to  Com.  Whipple's  running  past 
them  in  the  day  time,  by  going  between  thorn  and  the 
shore,  in  a  depth  of  water  in  which  they  could  not  ven 
ture,  and  getting  out  to  sea  without  injury.  It  was  in  a 
vessel  called  the  Providence,  and  was  considered  as  a 
very  complete  manoeuvre. 


34  TALES — NATIONAL 

killed  herself;  and  she  exhibited  an  instance  of  the 
complete  stupor  which  fear  can  produce.  Rosa  had 
therefore  to  travel  a  considerable  distance  alone, 
before  she  reached  the  town,  having  been  landed  on 
the  north  side,  and  then  to  cross  it  to  gain  the,  resi 
dence  of  Capt.  Read,  near  the  first  beach,  which 
she  accomplished  by  day  -break,  and  the  rising  of  the 
sun  saw  her  an  inmate  of  their  dwelling.  Here  she 
was  delighted  to  find  Capt.  Read  himself,  who  had 
procured  a  furlough  for  some  days,  in  order  to  assist 
in  the  removal  of  his  family.  Mrs.  Read  however 
still  persisted  in  remaining  where  she  was,  and 
spurned  at  the  idea  of  danger  from  the  imbecile 
Wallace.  She  however  concurred  in  the  opinion  it 
was  best  to  remove  their  aged  mother,  and  gladly 
accepted  the  offer  of  Rosa  to  take  charge  of  their 
oldest  child,  a  daughter  whom  Rosa  was  exceeding 
ly  attached  to,  and  it  was  agreed  they  should  come 
off  together. 

On -the  morning  of  this  day,  the  inhabitants  of 
Newport  were  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  inquietude 
and  confusion.  Wallace  had  just  sent  them  a  for 
mal  notice  that  he  should  burn  the  town  the  ensuing 
evening,  at  eight  o'clock.  It  made  no  difference  in 
the  arrangements  of  the  party— -for  they  were  among 
the  number  of  the  incredulous.  However,  Capt. 
Read  procured  a  pass  to  carry  his  mother  to  Taun- 
ton  in  a  small  sail-boat.  Wallace  would  not  then 
give  any  more  passports  to  Providence. 

There  were  at  this  time  two  American  officers  on 
the  Island,  who  had  made  several  unsuccessful  efforts 
to  leave  it:  they  were  narrowly  watched,  and  refus 
ed  a  passport.  To  these  gentlemen  Capt.  Read 
sent  private  intelligence  of  his  departure,  instructing 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  3d 

them  to  watch  for  him  at  a  place  called  Corrington's 
Cove,  on  the  North  passage,  and  he  would  bring 
them  away.  Then  packing  in  the  few  things  speci 
fied  in  the  passport,  which  they  were  allowed  to 
bring  away,  they  set  sail.  Mrs.  Read  had  determin 
ed  to  come  up  and  return  in  the  boat,  both  on  ac 
count  of  seeing  their  old  mother  and  her  child  up 
safe,  and  because  she  considered  the  passage  might 
be  attended  with  some  peril  to  her  husband,  and  was 
determined  to  share  it.  She  therefore  left  her  three 
youngest  children  in  the  care  of  a  friend,  and  em 
barked  in  their  frail  conveyance. 

The  party  were  obliged  to  go  far  out  of  their 
course,  to  prevent  suspicion,  as  their  passport  was 
only  for  Taunton.  They  passed  one  English  ship, 
within  hail,  the  Captain  of  which  insulted  them  with 
very  low  language,  telling  them  "  it  was  well  they 
were  going  to  Taunton,  for  if  they  were  going  to  the 
Hornet's  nest,  (meaning  Providence)  he  would  blow 
them  all  to  the  bottom/'  with  several  abusive  threats 
and  execrations,  which  Capt.  Read  did  not  think 
proper  to  answer.  His  hour  was  not  yet  come.  There 
was  no  indignity  offered  him  which  he  did  not  after 
wards  visit  upon  them  with  ten-fold  vengeance. 

They  proceeded  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  and 
the  well-known  signals  were  answered  by  the  sign 
agreed  upon,  and  the  two  officers,  who  had  been 
concealed,  ventured  out  and  got  safely  aboard.  Af 
ter  proceeding  as  far  in  the  direction  of  the  ferry,  as 
they  judged  safe,  they  suddenly  changed  their  course, 
and  made  for  Providence.  They  had  not  proceeded 
far  up  the  bay,  when  they  found  themselves  chased 
by  a  cutter.  They  had  no  doubt  it  belonged  to  the 
enemy,  and  Capt.  Read  considered  all  as  lost,  as 


36  TALES NATIONAL 

there  was  evidently  no  chance  of  escaping  them; 
and  the  bringing  away  the  officers,  he  was  persuad 
ed,  would  cause  much  trouble.  But  the  females, 
Rosa  and  his  wife,  were  no  ways  daunted.  They 
urged  him  to  make  all  sail,  while  they  hid  the  men 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  jambing  them  down  and 
covering  them  up  with  their  things  completely.  The 
dreaded  boat  approached,  and  Capt.  Read  deeming 
their  fate  inevitable,  refused  to  attempt  escape,  as 
they  were  now  proceeding  at  the  manifest  danger 
of  their  lives.  The  tide  being  against  them,  they 
were  completely  drenched  by  the  spray,  and  their 
bowsprit  part  of  the  time  under  water,  besides  which, 
they  had  come  near  going  down  once  or  twice,  by  a 
flaw  of  wind,  which  careened  the  boat  so  suddenly, 
that  they  had  lost  out  most  of  their  things,  and  only 
saved  themselves,  by  holding  on  with  all  their 
strength.*  They  accordingly  slackened  sail,  and 
suffered  the  cutter  to  come  up,  when  to  their  great 
joy  it  proved  to  belong  to  an  American  vessel. — 
There  was  much  sport  about  concealing  the  officers. 
They  were  dragged  forth  amidst  the  shouts  and  jokes 
and  hearty  cheers  of  the  cutter,  who,  as  Rosa  ex 
pressed  it,  "left  them  after  their  wit  had  run  out." 
At  8  o'clock  that  evening,  the  party  arrived  in 

*  I  have  no  light  upon  this  affair,  except  the  narrative 
of  Rosa,  whose  veracity  was  unquestionable,  but  whose 
memory  of  names  sometimes  failed  her.  The  first  time 
she  related  this  circumstance,  she  could  not  possibly  re 
member  their  names,  and  I  dismissed  the  question;  but 
another  time,  some  months  after,  I  suddenly  asked  the 
question,  What  were  those  officers  named,  that  you  help 
ed  run  away  with  from  Wallace  ?"  She  answered  with 
out  hesitation,  Francis  Machausen  and  Peter  Bassett 


AND    REVOLUTIONART. 

Providence,  and  were  received  with  transport  by 
Mrs.  Brown.  After  being  an  hour  or  two  on  shore, 
Capt.  Read  and  his  fearless  helpmate  prepared  to 
return,  and  arrived  safe  next  day  at  Newport.  They 
found  all  safe,  as  they  expected,  and  themselves  un 
suspected  of  having  been  any  where  but  to  Taunton. 
Although  Wallace  had  in  this  as  in  all  his  former 
threats,  failed  of  fulfilling  them,  yet  it  was  not  with 
out  some  apprehension  of  evil,  that  Capt.  Read 
again  left  his  family  in  their  unprotected  state.  But 
there  was  no  way  of  avoiding  it,  as  his  leave  of  ab 
sence  had  expired,  and  he  therefore  once  more  tak 
ing  an  affectionate  leave  of  them,  prepared  to 
rejoin  the  army. 


38  TALES— NATIONAL 


CHAPTER  V. 

"•L«  where  our  mighty  Navy  bringi 

•'  Destruction  on  her  canvass  wingi, 

"  While  through  the  deep  her  potent  founder 

"  Shall  sound  the  alarm  to  rob  and  j  under." 

IT  is  not  our  design  to  write  a  history  of  the  war 
in  Rhode- Island;  we  shall  therefore  pass  over  the 
public  events  of  this  interesting  period,  to  the  time 
when  the  harrassed  inhabitants  of  Newport,  after  a 
short  breathing-spell,  were  again  menaced  by  a  Bri 
tish  fleet,  the  one  which  conveyed  Gen.  Prescott  and 
his  forces  to  its  ill-fated  shores. 

Mrs.  Read,  who  lived  in  a  situation  to  discover 
every  thing  going  on  near  the  harbor,  was  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  the  top  of  her  house  with  a  spy 
glass,  many  times  through  the  day,  and  roconnoiter- 
ing;  and  it  was  said  that  often  of  a  moon-light  night 
she  spent  great  part  of  the  night  in  this  employment. 
It  was  not  strange  she  should  be  one  of  the  first  who 
discovered  the  approach  of  the  fleet,  and  the  first 
who  descried  the  dispatch  sent  to  reconnoitre  the 
town.  Nor  was  this  anxiety  any  reflection  upon 
her  courage;  peculiar  circumstances  combined  at 
this  period  to  render  her  more  helpless  than  former 
ly.  Her  mother  Read, 'whose  advice  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  at  all  times,  was  now  away;  and  her 
oldest  child,  the  only  one  old  enough  to  be  of  any 
assistance  to  her,  was  also  gone,  and  her  health  was 


AND   REVOLUTIONARY.  3$ 

somewhat  impaired.  Besides  which,  the  general 
desertion  of  her  immediate  friends  and  connections, 
and  those  of  her  husband,  served  to  deepen  the  gloom 
that  surrounded  her ;  and  when  she  saw  the  nu 
merous  force  approaching,  which  she  felt  would  carry 
the  town,  and  looked  around  upon  her  helpless  house 
hold,  of  one  old  man,  and  three  little  children,  and 
herself  about  to  give  birth  to  another;  who  can 
wonder  her  spirits  sunk  in  the  prospect  1  It  may  be 
recollected  by  many  old  persons  now  living,  al 
though  I  believe  the  circumstance  is  no  where  men 
tioned,  that  in  the  articles  of  capitulation,  the  Brit 
ish  were  not  to  land  at  Newport,  but  at  a  place  call 
ed  Brown's  shore,  several  miles  from  the  town,  in  a 
south-east  direction,  where  they  encamped  until 
next  day.  From  an  eminence  about  half  a  mile 
distant  from  her  habitation,  Mrs.  Read  holding  her 
little  ones  by  the  hand,  witnessed  the  debarkation  of 
the  British  troops,  and  pointed  out  to  them  the  uni 
form  of  the  foes  of  their  country.  One  of  them  only 
five  years  old  ever  afterwards  retained  a  most  perfect 
recollection  of  the  scene,  and  the  powerful  emo 
tion  which  the  sight  of  a  red  coat  ever  afterwards 
occasioned,  was  a  proof  that  none  of  them  forgot  it. 
The  grandeur  of  the  scene  was  however  one  calcu 
lated  to  make  an  impression  upon  such  n  mind  as 
Mrs,  Read's,  who  loyal  as  she  might  be,  in  her  coun 
try's  cause,  could  not  but  contemplate  it  with  a  feel 
ing  of  admiration  for  which  she  felt  reproved.  The 
perfect  order  and  regularity  which  governed  the 
movements  of  the  enemy  in  their  debarkation  and 
encampment,  went  far  to  allay  the  fears  of  many 
who  witnessed  their  movements  ;  and  Mrs.  Read  ro- 


40  TALES — NATIONAL 

turned  to  her  habitation  with  something  like  a  feeling 
of  restored  confidence.* 

That  day,  as  may  be  conjectured,  was  one  of  the 
greatest  confusion,  among  the  retreating  inhabitants, 
thronging  to  Bristol  Ferry,  and  to  get  passages  up 
the  river.  And  alas  there  was  another  class  with 
whom  it  was  a  day  of  joyful  preparation. 

On  the  next  day,  the  troops  entered  the  town,  led 
by  their  overbearing  and  pompous  commander. 
— The  desire  to  see  every  thing  new,  soon  dis 
persed  them  in  every  direction,  and  even  the  har 
dy  spirit  of  Mrs.  Read,  was  tried  when  she  found 
her  house  beset  by  strolling  parties  of  English  and 
Hession  soldiers,  who  though  they  dared  not 
offer  her  any  real  injury,  would  frequently  stop 

and  stare  at  her,  and  tell  her  "  how  d d  handsome 

she  was,"  and  sometimes  stalk  into  the  house  upon 
some  frivolous  excuse,  and  even  without  an  excuse. 

It  had  been  the  intention  of  Mrs.  Read,  to  stay 
and  guard  their  little  property  and  brave  the  worst, 
for  well  did  she  guess  that  the  deserted  possessions 
of  such  a  flaming  patriot  as  her  husband,  would 
meet  with  but  little  mercy  from  the  enemy;  and  al 
though  their  house  was  nothing  but  a  cottage ;  yet 
it  was  their  all  of  this  world's  goods,  and  was  there 
fore  as  valuable  to  them  as  a  palace  would  have  been: 
besides,  its  humble  roof  had  sheltered  their  parents 
before  them,  and  from  many  circumstances  had  be 
come  an  endeared  home  to  its  present  possessors. 
A  circumstance  however,  soon  occurred  which 

*  The  same  scene  has  been  described  to  me  by  some  of 
the  aged  inhabitants,  who  witnessed  it  from  Tammany 
(called  Tomony)  Hill. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  41 

changed   her  resolution,  and  made  her  as  desirous 
to  leave  it  as  she  had  been  before  to  remain. 

Among  the  various  parties  who  daily  passed  the 
house,  was  a  Hessian  officer,  who  always  found 
some  excuse  for  stopping,  generally  demanding  a 
glass  of  water.  He  was  a  fellow  of  most  formida 
ble  aspect,  as  well  as  of  unceremonious  deportment, 
and  his  confident  stare  had  more  than  once,  cover 
ed  the  person  whom  he  doubtless  thought  honored 
with  his  glance,  with  confusion. 

Mrs.  Read  had  no  fear  of  molestation  after  sun 
down,  as  the  soldiers  were  all  beat  to  quarters  at 
an  early  hour.  She  had  therefore,  though  much  an 
noyed  during  the  day,  reposed  at  night  in  feelings  of 
perfect  security.  It  was  therefore  without  any  feel 
ing  of  fear  that  she  opened  the  door  one  evening  to 
the  knock  of  one  of  the  neighbors,  as  she  supposed ; 
but  to  her  inexpressible  astonishment  discovered  her 
guest  to  be  the  Hession  officer.  The  black  whis 
kered  fellow,  whose  stare  had  so  much  terrified  and, 
confused  her,  without  any  ceremony  seated  him 
self  on  one  side  of  the  fire  place,  next  to  the  chair 
of  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 
Mrs.  Read  with  assumed  composure  seated  her 
self  in  the  opposite  corner,  and  affected  to  be  bus 
ied  with  the  fire,  while  she  politely  inquired  of  the 
stranger  his  business.  Had  he  got  lost  in  his  day's 
rambles  1  Could  she  direct  him  the  nearest  way  to 
his  quarters  1  &c.  All  this  time  the  fellow  sat  with 
his  eyes  fastened  on  her,  without  uttering  a  word. 
But  the  time  she  had  taken  to  ask  her  questions, 
had  answered  her  purpose ;  in  her  pretended  busi 
ness  about  the  fire,  she  had  contrived  to  heat  the  po 
ker  red  hot,  and  now  springing  with  the  fierceness  of 


42  TALES — NATIONAL 

a  tigress  -,  she  attempted  to  beat  him  out  of  the 
house;  he  attempted  to  disarm  her,  and  in  the  at 
tempt  burnt  his  hand  badly.  In  the  contest,  the  fel 
low  had  retreated  towards  the  door,  which  opening 
on  the  outside,  gave  way  as  he  staggered  against  it ; 
when  she  pushed  him  out  and  succeeded  in  fastening 
it.  Of  course  he  swore  and  stormed,  and  vowed  re- 
vengf,  swearing  "  he  would  have  ample  vengeance 
though  heaven  and  earth  stood  in  his  way." 

Several  persons  waited  upon  the  Gen.  on  the  day 
after  the  circumstance  just  alluded  to,  complaining  of 
the  unofficer-like  conduct  of  the  Hessian,  and  re 
questing  a  passport  for  Mrs.  Read  and  family  to 
quit  the  Island. 

The  Gen.  said  "he  would  provide  for  Mrs.  Read's 
safety,  by  stationing  a  sentinel  near  her  house,  but 
as  to  the  passport,  she  could  not  have  it." 

The  prompt  refusal  was  conveyed  to  Mrs.  Read, 
whose  terror  had  now  got  the  upper  hand  of  reason, 
and  again  and  again  she  beset  him  through  the  me 
dium  of  her  friends,  for  a  passport.  At  length  he 
sent  her  word  "it  was  in  vain,  for  he  had  deter 
mined  upon  keeping  her  there  as  a  bait  to  catch  her 
husband."* 

*  Such  paltry  tyranny  seems  too  little  for  a  General  to 
practice;  but  it  was  true,  as  well  as  a  thousand  other  in 
stances  which  might  be  mentioned  of  the  littleness  of 
Gon.  Prescott,  from  the  anecdotes  of  whom,  'tis  difficult 
to  believe  he  could  have  been  more  than  halfwitted. 
Whenever  he  saw  a  number  of  the  citizens  conversing 
together  in  the  streets,  during  his  daily  promenades,  he 
used  to  shake  his  cane  at  them  and  say  "  disperse  ye 
rebels  !"  On  several  occasions  he  held  some  conversa 
tion  with  the  Quakers,  and  not  being  able  to  make  them 


AtfD    REVOLUTIONARY. 


43 


Mrs.  Read  was  not  a  person  to  give  up  a  point 
when  she  had  once  set  upon  it;  and  although  she  very 
much  disliked  the  idea  of  an  interview  with  Gen. 
Prescott,  yet  as  all  other  attempts  had  failed,  she  re 
solved  upon  presenting  herself  in  person,  to  argue 
the  point.     She  therefore  accepted  of  the  polite  offer 
of  one  ol  the  most  respectable  and  influential  men  in 
the  place,  to  drive  her  to  the  General's  quarters. 
The  time  she  chose  was  certainly  a  favorable  one, 
since  it  is  wisely  said,  that  "  a  man  is  never  so  ready 
to  grant  a  request,  as  immediately  after  a  full  din- 
take  their  hats  off,  he  would  order  a  servant  to  take  their 
hats  off  while  they  addressed  him.  The  habitations  of  the 
absent  whigs  met  with   no  mercy  at  his   hands  ;  some  of 
their   dwellings  were  torn  down  to   make  fire-wood   of, 
others  converted  into  barracks,  or  otherwise  wantonly  de 
faced.     Shame  upon  those  who  joyfully  acted  as  inform 
ers  to  point  out  such.     The  transfer  of  private   property 
which   he  sometimes  made,  and  the  plunder  of^personal 
property  which   he   authorised,  weie  unprecedented  by 
any  one  actmg  in  just  such  a   capacity,  and  restricted  as 
he  professed  to  be  by  the  laws  of  honor,  "  to  respect  the 
private  property  of  every  citizen."     One  of  the  first  ob 
jects  of  his  vengeance,  was   a  Printer  by  the  name  of 
;Southwick,  a  warm  advocate  for  the  liberties  of  the  peo 
ple,  and  who  it  was  said   had  published  and  circulated  a 
very  spirited  remonstrance,  in  a  hand-bill,  against   open 
ing  the  Port  to  the  British   troops.     The  printing  estab- 
lisliment  he  immediately    ordered  to  be  demolished,   and 
the  types  he  presented  to  a  Capt  Howe,  who  upon  their 
evacuation  of  the  town,  carried  them  to  New-Brunswick, 
After  the  war,  however,  Capt.  Howe  returned  them   with 
a  very  polite  letter  to  Mr.  Southwick  ;  and  in  1813  the 
types  were  still  in  Newport.     Mr.    Southwick  was   the 
father  of  Solomon  Southwick,  Esq.  of  Albany. 


44  TALES — NATIONAL 

tier."  Upon  asking  for  Gen.  Prescott,  Mrs.  Read 
was  shewn  into  the  mess-room,  where  the  General 
and  a  number  of  his  officers  were  merrily  carousing, 
and  pledging  one  another  in  "deep  potations."  The 
"  wassal  roar"  was  hushed  at  the  entrance  of  the 
lady,  whose  confusion  at  thus  becoming  the  object  of 
attention  to  so  many  young  men  at  once,  must  have 
been  great.  Scarce  knowing  where  she  was,  and 
unable  to  distinguish  the  General  among  the  number 
of  glittering  uniforms,  she  gladly  accepted  of  one  of 
the  numerous  offers  of  a  chair  from  one  of  the  com 
pany.  The  General  now  advanced,  and  was  intro 
duced  by  her  companion.  Mrs.  Read  then  preferred 
her  request  for  a  passport.  The  old  objection  was 
made  by  the  General,  that  "  he  had  determined  upon 
keeping  her  there,  to  catch  her  husband." 

"That,"  said  Mrs.  Read,  "you  will  never  do 
alive.  I  shall  take  care  that  he  does  not  come  here 
on  my  account."  The  name  of  her  husband  had 
aroused  the  fearless  spirit  of  the  wife,  and  rising,  she 
walked  to  the  upper  end  of  the  apartment,  where 
the  General  had  retreated,  and  vehemently  urged 
the  immediate  attention  to  her  request.  It  was  finally 
complied  with,  and  she  received  it  from  the  hand  of 
the  General,  who  raising  himself  to  his  full  height, 
as  he  presented  it,  said,  "  If  you  go  to  Providence 
to  get  out  of  my  way,  Mrs.  Read,  you  will  lose  your 
labor,  as  I  shall  be  there  almost  as  soon  as  you 
will." 

The  gentleman  who  conducted  her  owned  he 
trembled  from  head  to  foot,  when  he  saw  the  fire  of 
indignation  lighten  her  glance,  and  heard  the  spirited 
answer  she  returned.  The  exact  words  I  have  for- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  45 

gotten,  but  it  was  something  like  this,  that  "  he 
might  coine  too  soon/' 

It  appears  to  the  writer  of  this  narrative,  as  though 
she  now  beheld  her,  and  though  the  stately  form  and 
perfect  features  have  long  since  mouldered  into  dust, 
yet  is  every  lineament  deeply  engraven  on  the  tablet 
of  memory.  Her  figure  was  somewhat  above  the 
middling  height,  of  perfect  symmetry  :  Jier  raven 
locks  shaded  a  forehead  of  dazzling  whiteness,  finely 
contrasted  by  the  beautiful  bloom  of  her  complexion, 
even  at  the  age  of  48,  wrhen  I  first  remember  her. 
Her  beauty  was  striking;  she  had  a  remarkably  hand 
some  mouth  and  regular  teeth,  and  I  recollect  that 
her  fine  black  eyes,  when  cast  down,  had  an  expres 
sion  of  much  sweetness;  but  when  raised,  especially 
in  anger,  there  was  a  look  of  fierceness  in  them,  not 
quite  agreeable.  There  was  besides,  a  dignity,  and 
fearlessness  of  deportment  in  her,  (probably  occa 
sioned  by  familiarity  with  scenes  of  danger,)  very 
different  from  most  of  those  born  in  her  sphere. 
How  calculated  her  character  was  to  please  those 
who  delight  to  dwell  on  the  gentler  graces,  we  will 
not  say;  out  she  was  certainly  qualified  for  the  age 
in  which  she  lived.  I  hope  this  long  digression 
may  be  pardoned;  it  will  not,  fortunately,  be  in  the 
writer's  power  to  describe  many  persons  of  that  day. 

As  the  General  aided  Mrs.  Read  from  the  room, 
he  again  repeated  the  taunting  remark,  that  "  he 
should  be  in  Providence  almost  as  soon  as  she 
would;"  to  which  she  gaily  answered,  "  she  doubted 
not  he  would  have  a  warm  welcome,"  and  in  high 
good  spirits  she  returned  home,  to  prepare  for  her 
departure.  But  another  difficulty  now  arose.  There 
was  no  way  to  get  off;  all  who"  proposed  to  come 


46  TALES — NATIONAL 

away  had  come,  and  no  conveyance  could  be  thought 
of.  All  one  day  had  been  consumed  by  her  friends, 
in  trying  to  contrive  some  way  to  get  her  off,  but  in 
vain.  Night  closed  in  upon  her  without  a  ray  of 
hope,  and  she  retired  again  to  watch  and  weep. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  47 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Would  I  had  fall'n  upon  tbow  happier  dayi 
"That  Poets  celebrate." 

Cowper. 

"  ALAS,"  said  Mrs.  Read,  as  she  rose  from  a  dis 
turbed  slumber,  where  she  had  just  snatched  a  few 
moments  of  repose  beside  her  sleeping  babes. — 
"  What  a  cruel  situation  is  mine.  I  am  just  mocked 
with  the  prospect  of  escape,  to  render  my  captivity 
more  irksome.  My  husband  cannot  come  to  me; 
my  connections  are  all  at  a  distance,  and  I,  fool  that 
I  was  to  remain  alone.  But  they  are  all  well  and 
safe,  and  have  forgotten  me."  For  the  first  time, 
she  gave  way  to  a  passion  of  tears — when  suddenly, 
a  gentle  rap  was  heard  at  the  door  beneath.  She 
listened  in  breathless  fear — it  was  repeated — and  she 
at  length  ventured  to  open  her  little  casement  to  ask 
"Who's  therel"  when  the  well  known  accents  of 
Rosanna  Hicks  met  her  ear.  "  It  is  I,  Mary,  who 
have  come  for  you." 

Trembling  with  joy,  she  flew  down  and  opened 
the  door,  and  found  herself  folded  in  the  arms  of 
faithful  Rosa.  But  to  account  for  her  presenting 
herself  in  that  manner,  we  must  go  back  a  little  in 
the  story. 

It  is  a  saying  that  every  thing  magnifies  by  travel 
ling.  The  accounts  which  continued  from  time  to 
time  to  reach  Providence,  respecting  the  situation 
of  families  in  the  conquered  town,  were  greatly  ex- 


48  TALES NATIONAL 

aggerated;  and  Mrs.  Brown  became  truly  alarmed 
respecting  her  brother's  family.  Her  mother  too 
could  have  no  peace  until  she  was  assured  of  the 
safety  of  her  daughter  and  the  children.  It  was  at 
length  agreed  that  Rosa  should  go  after  them.  She 
had  no  protector  to  go  with  her,  as  the  war  had  taken 
off  all  the  men  of  the  family.  But  it  was  proposed 
to  go  in  a  boat  which  was  just  going  down  to  carry 
some  supplies  to  the  American  encampment,  on  the 
south  side  of  Bristol  Ferry,  where  Gen.  (then  Col.) 
Barton  commanded,  and  trust  to  the  known  kindness 
of  that  gentleman,  for  some  suitable  protector  to 
accompany  her  to  Newport. 

Rosa  took  passage  in  the  boat  with  a  number  of 
gentlemen,  entire  strangers  to  her,  but  who  treated 
her  with  the  greatest  civility.  The  boat  was  hailed 
as  she  approached  the  fort.  As  soon  as  she  reached 
the  shore,  Col.  Barton,  with  several  gentlemen,  came 
on  board.  He  knew  Rosa  well,  as  she  had  lived 
next  door  to  him. 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven,  Rosa,"  said  he,  "  how 
came  you  herel"  Rosa  explained  in  a  few  words 
the  state  of  Capt.  Read's  family,  and  her  intention 
to  get  them  off,  if  possible;  and  finally  requested  the 
Colonel  to  furnish  her  with  some  trusty  soldier,  to 
accompany  her.  The  Colonel  told  her  to  choose 
any  one,  and  he  should  accompany  her.  She  named 
a  Mr.  Larchar,  one  of  the  family  before  mentioned 
in  this  narrative.  One  of  the  gentlemen  present  of 
fered  the  loan  of  his  chaise,  provided  the  soldier 
would  immediately  return  with  it,  when  he  had  left 
Rosa  at  the  place  of  destination.  He  then  gave 
them  particular  directions  about  proceeding  to  head 
quarters  and  procuring  a  passport.  Upon  their  arri- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  49 

val  at  Newport,  they  proceeded  according  to  direc 
tions,  and  arrived  at  the  beach,  thirteen  miles  from 
the  ferry,  about  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  when  Mr. 
Larchar  set  Rosa  down  and  returned  immediately 
to  Taunton. 

The  joy  of  Mrs.  Read  and  her  little  family  may 
easily  be  conceived,  at  the  prospect  of  release  from 
their  very  unpleasant  situation.  They  immediately 
commenced  packing  up  such  necessaries  as  they 
thought  it  practicable  to  carry  away,  and  it  was  set 
tled  to  obtain  two  chaise,  if  possible,  from  a  neighbor 
who  kept  a  livery  stable,  and  get  him  to  send  one 
ahead  with  Rosa  and  the  children,  his  boy  and  him 
self  to  drive  Mrs.  Read  slowly  after.  They  thought 
if  Rosa  could  only  get  to  the  ferry,  she  could  stop 
the  boat  for  the  company,  until  Mrs.  Read  came  up. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night,  therefore,  Rosa  went  over 
to  Mr.  Dilleby's,  the  person  who  owned  the  chaise, 
and  agreed  with  him  to  come  for  them  an  hour  before 
light.  She  was  challenged  by  the  sentinel  again,  but 
having  the  watch-word  of  the  night,  was  suffered  to 
pass  without  molestation. 

With  all  their  diligence,  it  was  not  possible  to  get 
away  before  light,  and  then  the  trouble  of  getting  a 
pass  for  their  conductor,  &c.  detained  them  so  that 
they  did  not  reach  the  American  encampment  until 
after  the  boat  had  gone.  Rosa  was  sadly  perplexed. 
The  boat  had  been  the  bearer  of  dispatches  from  the 
encampment,  therefore  could  not  wait  for  them. 
Col.  Barton  endeavored  to  console  her,  by  saying 
there  would  be  another  going  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
advised  them  to  wait  as  near  as  possible,  and  he 
would  give  them  the  earliest  information. 

Rosa  went  up  to  a  Mrs.  Irish's,   who  with  her 


50  TALES NATIONAL 

family  had  fled  from  Newport  when  the  British  land 
ed,  and  taken  a  room  in  a  small  house  about  a  mile 
from  the  shore,  intending  to  await  there  the  re 
capture  or  evacuation  of  the  town.  Here  she  stopt 
until  the  other  chaise  came  up.  As  there  was  no 
alternative,  it  was  agreed  to  remain  there  until  ano 
ther  opportunity  offered  for  Providence. 

They  had  provisions  with  them  for  several  days' 
consumption;  but  still  they  felt  distressed  at  thus 
intruding  upon  the  hospitality  of  the  Irish's,  whose 
family,  consisting  of  several  little  children,  had  no 
room  but  the  one  they  were  in,  and  a  small  loft 
above.  That  kind  family  were,  however,  no  wise 
disturbed  at  the  occurrence,  and  even  expressed  much 
satisfaction  at  the  "  opportunity  of  accommodating 
the  wife  of  a  brave  soldier,"  and  begged  them  to 
stay  while  it  suited  their  convenience,  and  partake  of 
such  accommodation  as  the  troubles  of  the  times  had 
left  them. 

The  boat  in  which  they  were  to  take  passage  was 
hourly  expected  from  Providence;  but  the  next  day 
passed,  and  no  boat  came.  But  the  morning  after, 
a  gentleman  who  was  coming  up  by  land  hearing 
from  Col.  Barton  their  situation,  called  and  offered 
to  bring  one  of  the  ladies  in  his  chaise.  Mrs.  Read, 
already  very  much  exhausted  by  her  ride  from  New 
port,  and  the  anxiety  she  had  suffered,  did  not  feel 
able  to  ride  to  Providence,  and  Rosa  could  not  think 
of  leaving  her.  What  was  to  be  done]  Reluctant 
as  they  were,  they  were  obliged  to  remain  in  their 
present  situation  for  the  boat.  Impatiently  they 
watched  for  it  the  live-long  day.  But  no  one  came, 
except  a  messenger  from  Col.  Barton,  to  say  the 
boat  would  certainly  be  there  next  day.  Delighted 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  51 

with  this  assurance,  they  set  down  to  supper.  Six 
little  children,  laughing  and  chatting  (three  of  each 
family,)  surrounded  the  table,  and  the  kind  Mrs. 
Irish  endeavoring  by  every  thing  in  her  power  to 
keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  party;  when  Rosa,  happen 
ing  to  look  at  Mrs.  Read,  saw,  as  she  said,  "  by  the 
flashing  of  her  bright  black  eyes,"  that  she  was  sud 
denly  ill.  She  made  an  effort  to  be  calm,  evidently, 
but  her  varying  color  convinced  her  it  was  a  great 
exertion.  >She  sprang  from  the  table  and  led  her 
into  an  adjoining  closet,  saying,  -as  she  closed  the 
door,  "  Mary,  you  are  ill." 

"  Yes,"  (said  Mrs.  Read,  sinking  upon  a  seat 
and  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears)  "  my  last  hour 
has  come.  I  shall  die  here!  die  in  this  place."  Poor 
Rosa  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  though  almost  as 
much  distressed  as  herself.  Mrs*  Irish  coming  in, 
said  every  thing  that  kindness  could  suggest.  She 
dispatched  her  oldest  children  for  help,  and  sent  the 
youngest  with  Mrs.  Read's  little  ones,  to  the  nearest 
neighbor's,  for  the  night. 

The  calamities  of  the  times  seemed  to  have  open 
ed  every  one's  heart  to  his  neighbor.  The  confused 
story  and  message  of  the  children,  persuaded  the 
people  that  it  was  some  poor  destitute  wanderer  that 
Mrs.  Irish  had  taken  in,  and  they  determined  there 
fore  to  contribute  their  share  to  her  comforts,  al 
though  no  demand  had  been  made  on  their  charity. 
They  felt  ashamed  Mrs.  Irish  should  have  all  the 
expense  and  trouble  of  the  poor  creature  they 
supposed  she  had  received  under  her  roof.  When 
they  arrived,  therefore,  they  came  loaded.  One  was 
sweating  under  a  pile  o£  bed-clothes;  another  brought. 
a  cheese;  and,  in  short,  none  came  empty-handed. 


52  TALKS NATIONAL 

The  kind  creatures  exerted  themselves  very  much 
to  comfort  the  sick  stranger.  There  was  no  physi 
cian  nearer  than  Newport;  but  they  were  physicians, 
nurses  aud  every  thing,  and  in  a  few  hours  presented 
Mrs.  Read  with  a  son. 

But  it  was  in  vain  every  effort  was  made  to  com 
fort  the  mother;  she  still  persisted  she  should  die. 
In  vain  Rosa  commended  the  beauty  of  the  little 
healthy  looking  boy.  She  protested  she  should  soon 
be  called  to  part  from  him.  Knowing  the  power  of 
imagination,  under  such  circumstances,  they  became 
seriously  alarmed  for  her,  and  several  of  them,  tho' 
obliged  to  appear  cheerful,  could  not  restrain  their 
tears.  At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Col. 
Barton  made  his  appearance.  Astonished  at  their 
looks,  he  inquired  what  was  the  matter ;  when 
Rosa  told  him  "  that  Mrs.  Read  believed  herself 
dying;  but  that  terror  from  the  dreadful  scenes  she 
had  gone  through,  had  so  disordered  her,  she  could 
not  understand  her  own  situation,  and  that  if  she 
could  only  be  re-assured,  she  did  not  see  why  she 
might  not  do  well."  This  was  said  aside.  The  Colo 
nel  walked  right  up  to  the  bed,  and  in  the  kindest 
and  gentlest  manner  endeavored  to  compose  her. 
He  offered  to  send  immediately,  and  get  leave  for 
her  husband  to  come  to  her,  and  assured  her  there 
was  no  comfort  or  assistance  she  might  need,  but 
should  be  immediately  procured;  that  he  would  or 
der  every  sentinel,  as  they  changed  guard,  to  stop 
and  inquire  how  she  was;  and  should  she  be  any 
worse,  medical  aid  should  be  immediately  procured. 
He  exhorted  her  to  be  composed,  and  not,  after 
braving  so  many  real  dangers,  suffer  herself  to  bs 
killed  by  imaginary  ones. 


*ND    REVOLUTIONARY.  53 

This  had  the  desired  effect.  The  Colonel  had 
come  to  tell  them  the  boat  would  be  there  at  an 
early  hour  next  day,  and  bade  them  prepare,  should 
it  have  to  return  immediately,  to  go  in  her.  The 
boat  made  its  appearance  accordingly,  but  did  not 
go  back  to  Providence  until  three  days  after.  Mrs. 
Read  had  by  this  time  in  a  great  measure  recovered 
her  former  spirits,  and  Rosa  proposed  going  up  in 
the  boat  and  carrying  the  children  to  the  care  ot 
their  grand-mother,  and  returning  immediately,  as 
the  boat  was  only  to  remain  a  few  hours  in  Provi 
dence.  A  Mrs.  Lawrence  offered  to  take  care  of  the 
patient,  so  Rosa  departed  with  the  children.  They 
were  all  that  day  and  part  of  the  night  in  getting  to 
Providence.  There  was  a  company  of  strange  men 
on  board;  but  they  were  very  kind,  and  helped  hold  the 
little  sleepy  children.  They  stopped  at  the  lower 
wharf,  and  one  of  them  carried  the  youngest,  a  little 
girl,  in  his  arms;  another  the  next;  and  Rosa  led 
the  oldest  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Brown. 

The  family,  after  putting  the  children  to  bed, 
employed  themselves  in  packing  up  a  bundle  of  all 
the  little  comforts  they  could  think  of  for  Rosa  to 
carry  back,  and  making  a  cup  of  tea  for  her;  but  be 
fore  she  could  drink  it,  she  was  summoned  by  one 
of  the  gentlemen  to  return  to  the  boat.  She  caught 
up  her  bundle  and  embarked  with  another  company 
of  strange  men,  in  an  open  boat,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  The  passengers  appeared  to  know  the  story 
of  her  voyage,  and  sympathized  with  much  delicacy 
in  the  situation  of  her  afflicted  friend.  One  of  them, 
a  Clergyman  of  the  English  church  (as  they  called 
it  then,)  lamented  the  "  boy  had  not  been  born  at 
his  house,  as  he  would  have  given  him  a  name  and 
a  present."  E* 


54  TALES — NATIONAL 

The  boat  was  all  next  day  and  until  after  dark 
the  next  night,  getting  to  the  encampment;  and  poor 
Rosa,  leaving  her  bundle  at  the  house  where  the  offi 
cers  were  quartered,  hastened  home  to  .bed,  com 
pletely  exhausted.  The  reason  of  such  long  voyages 
from  Providence  to  Tiverton,  and  sailing  so  much  in 
the  night,  will  at  once  be  seen,  when  it  is  recollect 
ed  that  there  was  a  British  station  on  Conannicut 
and  Prudence,  and  that  their  boats  were  continually 
circumnavigating  the  bay.  They  were  probably 
obliged  to  watch  their  chances  to  stand  out  from 
shore ;  and  there  were  many  instances  during  the 
war,  where  boats  were  a  whole  week  in  effecting 
the  passage. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  Rosa,  availing 
herself  of  the  attendance  of  Mrs.  Lawrence,  who 
was  about  to  return  to  her  family,  went  down  for 
her  bundles.  The  Colonel,  who  was  at  breakfast  in 
the  mess-room,  sent  for  her.  She  was  very  loth  to 
go,  but  the  orders  of  the  Colonel  were  peremptory, 
saying  that  her  presence  was  indispensable,  as  they 
wanted  to  take  her  evidence.  Rosa,  though  in  hum 
ble  life,  was  no  stranger  to  the  world;  and  finding 
herself  thus  compelled,  made  a  virtue  of  necessity 
and  presented  herself.  She  was  told  that  it  could 
net  be  taken  until  after  breakfast;  and  a  seat  being 
provided  for  her  between  the  Colonel  and  the  Cler 
gyman,  above  mentioned,  she  sat  down  to  breakfast. 
It  was  the  first  regular  meal  she  had  made  for  two 
days;  and  she  used  often  to  speak,  in  after  life,  of 
the  mess,  as  the  best  breakfast  she  ever  made.  But 
as  soon  as  it  was  over,  she  desired  to  have  her  evi 
dence  taken. 

"  Well,   then,"   said  the  Colonel,    «  I  want  you 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  55 

to  tell  these  gentlemen  whether  or  not  I  am  a 
married  man." 

"  Certainly  you  are,"  said  Rosa,  "  and  by  the 
way,  your  wife  called  to  me  coming  to  the  boat, 
desiring  me  to  tell  you  they  were  all  well." 

"  Well,  that  is  all,"  said  the  Colonel.  Rosa 
could  not  comprehend  the  business  at  first.  The 
officers  she  saw  were  stifling  with  laughter  one 
moment,  and  looked  very  grave  the  next.  For  an 
instant,  she  thought  it  was  some  joke  to  herself; 
but  happening  to  cast  her  eyes  across  the  room, 
she  saw  a  female  glide  out  of  it,  pale  as  ashes, 
and  upon  inquiring  afterwards,  she  discovered  that, 
some  of  the  officers  had  been  practising  upon  the 
credulity  of  this  simple  and  susceptible  country 
maiden,  until  the  Colonel  himself  could  not  con 
vince  her  he  was  married.  Rosa  used  to  make  the 
remark,  when  relating  this  anecdote,  that  if  "  he 
was  the  greatest  General  who  conquered  himself," 
the  Colonel  deserved  that  name  in  more  respects 
than  one. 

In  ten  days  from  the  time  of  Mrs.  Read's  arri 
val  at  Tiverton,  her  husband  arrived;  and  a  pack 
et  being  engaged  to  go  to  Pawtuxet,  he  determin 
ed  upon  bringing  her  away.  The  morning  was 
cold  and  drizzly,  but  as  his  furlough  was  only 
for  a  few  days,  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. — 
They  therefore  took  Mrs.  Read  and  her  infant, 
and  carried  them  on  board.  They  had  a  most 
boisterous  and  uncomfortable  passage;  but  the  wind 
fcemg  in  their  favor,  after  a  somewhat  circuitous 
route,  they  arrived  at  Pawtuxet  about  dark.  They 
had  occasion  on  the  passage  to  think  of  the  hos 
pitable  little  dwelling  of  Mrs,  Irish,  whom  they 


56  TALES — NATIONAL 

had  left  with  feelings  of  gratitude  never  to  be  effac 
ed.  There  was  no  fire  on  board,  and  it  rained 
very  fast  on  their  arrival.  Capt.  Read  had  engag 
ed  the  packet  to  bring  his  family  up  the  river. — 
But  no  persuasion  could  induce  the  Captain  to 
come  any  further  that  night,  and  they  sent  word 
of  their  arrival  to  Mr.  Benoni  Lockwood,  a  very 
particular  friend  of  the  family,  who  had  married  a 
cousin  of  Capt.  Read's,  of  their  arrival,  and  of  the 
situation  of  the  family.  Mr.  Lockwood's  chaise 
was  in  the  back  part  of  his  barn,  completely  hedg 
ed  in  by  loads  of  corn;  but  they  contrived  a  way, 
nevertheless,  by  tackling  an  ox  team,  laying  on  a 
bed,  blankets,  &c.  and  went  immediately  to  the 
packet,  where  they  placed  the  family  in  and  drove 
to  the  house.  Mrs.  Lockwood  gave  them  a  most 
affectionate  reception.  They  were  just  preparing 
for  a  husking;  but  every  thing  was  arranged  for 
the  comfort  of  their  guests.  As  soon  as  they  knew 
of  their  arrival,  they  had  a  large  fire  made  in  their 
parlor,  moved  in  a  bed,  and  arranged  every  thing 
for  their  comfort,  and  the  accommodation  of  the 
invalid.  The  next  day  proved  rainy,  but  Mr. 
Lockwood  employed  himself  in  getting  out  the 
chaise,  seeing  their  anxiety  to  go.  But  as  the  air 
was  very  damp  on  the  succeeding  day,  the  females 
of  the  family  would  in  no  wise  consent  to  Mrs. 
Read's  being  removed,  and  Capt.  Read  proceeded 
alone  to  Providence,  being  obliged  to  make  great 
dispatch  with  hi«  business  before  the  expiration  of 
his  furlough,  and  Mr.  Lockwood  was  to  bring  on 
the  family  next  day. 

"I  do  now  see,"  said  Mrs.  Read,  upon  taking 
leave  of  her  kind  friend,  Mrs.  Lockwood, "  that  every 


AISD    REVOLUTI051Rr.  57 

creature  is  given  strength  according  to  their  day. 
I  never  felt  so  well  at  such  a  time  in  my  life,  and 
have  taken  no  cold  through  all  the  exposure  of 
my  removal."  She  was  affected  even  to  tears, 
upon  taking  leave  of  her  kind  hostess.* 

*  This  lady  \vas  afterwards  the  wife  of  Moses  Brown, 
of  Providence. 


TILES NATIONAL 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  There  see  how  fate  great  Malcolm  cried, 
"  Strikes  with  its  bolts,  the  towers  of  pride." 

IT  was  not  long  after  Mrs.  Read  was  settled  in 
Providence,  before  the  «•'  prediction,"  (as  she  call 
ed  it)  of  Gen.  Prescott,  was  accomplished.  He 
did  indeed  come  to  Providence,  as  he  had  threat 
ened;  and  got  there  almost  as  soon  as  she  did.  It 
happened  to  be  a  few  months  after,  however.  The 
capture  of  Gen.  Prescott  was  not  the  rash  and 
headlong  adventure  (though  an  exploit  sufficiently 
hazardous)  that  some  attempted  to  make  it  ap 
pear.  It  was  planned  and  executed  with  consum 
mate  prudence;  and  had  been  for  some  time  the 
subject  of  reflection  and  calculation  in  the  mind  of 
Gen.  (then  Col.)  Barton.  It  maybe  recollected  that 
Gen.  Lee  had  been  captured  by  surprise  in  the  pre 
ceding  November,  at  Baskinbridge  in  New-Jersey, 
by  Col.  Harcourt,  who  learning  he  was  lodged  in  a 
remote  country  house,  while  he  was  scouring  the 
country  with  his  cavalry,  appeared  suddenly  before 
him,  and  securing  the  sentinels,  mounted  him  on  a 
swift  horse  and  conveyed  him  to  New-York.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  country  who  felt  more  on  this  oc 
casion  than  Col.  Barton,  and  from  the  moment  that 
the  circumstance  was  made  known  to  him,  he  resolv 
ed,  if  ever  an  opportunity  offered,  to  surprise  some 
Major  General  of  the  British  army,  in  order  to  pro 
cure  his  release.  That  opportunity  offered;  in  the 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  69 

month  of  June,  1777,  a  Mr.  Coffin  made  his  escape 
from  the  enemy  on  Rhode-Island,  and  was  brought 
to  his  quarters.  From  this  person  he  learnt  that  the 
General  was  quartered  at  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Over- 
ing,  on  the  west  side  of  the  Island,  describing  it  par 
ticularly.  He  was  followed  by  a  deserter  the  next 
day,  who  gave  the  same  intelligence. 

The  troops  stationed  at  Tiverton  were  not  inured 
to  service,  nor  Col.  Barton  either;  and  this  circum 
stance  alone  caused  him  to  debate  a  few  days  before 
he  communicated  the  project  of  surprising  Gen.  Pres- 
cott  to  any  one.  He  first  communicated  it  to  Col. 
Stanton,  and  received  his  advice  and  ready  concur 
rence.  He  then  selected  several  officers,  whose 
ability  and  secrecy  he  judged  from  personal  ac 
quaintance  he  could  confide  in,  and  asked  them  if 
they  were  willing  to  go  with  him  on  an  enterprise, 
the  particular  object  of  which  he  could  not  then  in 
form  them  of.  They  all  consented  at  once.  Their 
names  and  rank  were  as  follow:  Ebenezer  Adams, 
Captain  of  artillery ;  Samuel  Phillips,  Captain ; 
James  Potter,  Lieutenant;  Joshua  Babcock,  Lieuten 
ant  ;  Andrew  Stanton,  Ensign;  and  John  Willcocks. 

The  next  step  to  be  taken  was  to  procure  boats,  a 
thing  attended  with  some  difficulty,  as  there  were  but 
two  at  the  station.  However,  in  a  few  days  they 
obtained  five  whale  boats  and  had  them  fitted  in  the 
best  possible  manner.  All  was  now  ready  except 
the  men,  who  had  not  been  engaged,  for  fear  it  would 
create  suspicion.  As  Col.  Barton  wished  to  have 
them  all  volunteers,  the  regiment  was  ordered  to 
.be  paraded.  He  then  addressed  them,  telling  them 
he  was  about  undertaking  an  enterprise  against  the 
enemy,  and  wished  to  have  forty  volunteers ;  desiring 


60  TALES — NATIONAL 

those  who  were  willing  to  risk  their  lives  with  him, 
to  advance  two  paces  in  front.  At  this  the  whole 
regiment  advanced.  After  thanking  them  for  their 
willingness,  he  selected  forty  whom  he  knew  un 
derstood  rowing,  and  upon  who  he  might  de 
pend.  With  this  company  they  embarked  for  Bris 
tol  first,  on  the  fourth  of  July,  but  a  heavy  storm  of 
thunder  and  rain,  when  they  got  into  Mount  Hope 
Bay,  obliged  them  to  separate,  and  Col.  Barton  lost 
sight  of  all  the  boats  but  one ;  those  two  kept  togeth 
er  and  arrived  at  Bristol  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  on  the 
fifth,  thus  being  two  days  on  the  voyage  across  the 
ferry.  Proceeding  to  the  commanding  officer's  quar 
ters,  he  there  found  another  deserter  from  the  Brit 
ish  camp,  who  gave  him  considerable  misinformation 
upon  being  questioned.  However,  at  eight  o'clock 
the  other  boats  arrived,  and  the  General  took  the 
officers  with  him  to  Hog  Island,  from  which  they 
had  a  distinct  view  of  the  British  encampment  and 
shipping,  and  there  he  first  unfolded  his  plan  to  them. 
They  appeared  surprised,  but  after  his  telling  them 
the  situation  of  the  house  where  Gen.  Prescott  lodg 
ed,  and  the  part  he  wished  each  to  act  in  the  intend 
ed  enterprise,  they  consented,  and  promised  not 
to  give  kthe  least  hint  of  it.  They  then  returned  to 
Bristol/  and  staid  until  about  nine  at  night  of  the 
sixth,  when  they  re-embarked  and  crossed  over  to 
Warwick  Neck,  from  whence  they  meant  to  take 
their  departure  for  the  Island.  On  the  seventh,  the 
wind  changed  to  the  E.  N.  E.  and  brought  on  a 
storm,  some  obstacles  intervened  on  the  eighth  and 
they  did  not  take  their  departure  until  nine  o'clock 
on  the  ninth. 
Before  the  departure  of  the  boats,  the  Colonel  num- 


A.ND    REVOLUTIONARY.  61 

bered  them  all,  and  appointed  each  his  place.  To 
every  boat,  there  was  one  commissioned  officer,  ex 
clusive  of  Col.  Barton.  The  party  consisted  of  for 
ty-one  men,  officers  included.  Before  their  departure, 
tKe  Colonel  collected  them  in  a  circle  and  addressed 
them,  acquainting  them  with  the  object  of  the  enter 
prise,  and  the  hazard  attending  it,  and  pledging  them 
to  take  ihe  lead  and  share  every  danger,  whatever 
it  might  be,  equally  with  his  soldiers,  intreating  them 
to  preserve  the  strictest  order,  and  not  to  have  the 
least  idea  of  plunder;  to  preserve  profound  silence, 
and  ordering  them,  if  any  had  been  so  imprudent 
as  to  furnish  himself  with  any  spirituous  liquors, 
to  leave  it.  After  commending  them  to  the  great 
Disposer  of  events,  they  proceeded  to  the  shore. 

The  commanding  officer  at  Warwick  Neck  was 
directed  to  keep  a  sharp  look  out,  and  if  he  should 
hear  the  report  of  three  distinct  muskets,  to  come 
on  to  the  north  end  of  Prudence  to  take  them  off; 
for  they  had  reasons  to  fear  the  British  men  of  war 
might  send  their  boats  out,  and  cut  them  off  from 
the  main. 

In  the  forward  boat  Col.  Barton  posted  himself 
with  a  pole  ten  feet  long  and  a  handkerchief  tied  to 
the  end  of  it,  so  that  his  boat  might  be  known  from 
the  others,  and  that  none  might  go  before  it.  They 
went  between  the  Islands  of  Prudence  and  Patience, 
in  order  that  the  shipping  which  lay  against  Hope 
Island,  might  not  discover  them,  and  rowed  under 
the  west  side  of  Prudence  till  they  came  to  the  south 
end,  when  they  heard  the  enemy  on  board  their 
ships  cry  out  "All's  well."  When  they  were  \\ith- 
in  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  of  Rhode-Island, 
they  heard  a  great  noise  like  the  running  of  horses. 


02  TALES — NATIONAL 

This  threw  a  consternation  over  the  whole  party  ; 
but  none  spoke.  They  slackened  for  a  moment, 
but  the  Colonel  concluding  it  was  only  the  accident 
al  running  of  horses,  as  they  often  do  when  let  loose, 
concluded  to  push  on,  and  they  gained  the  shore. — 
There  was  then  a  man  left  to  each  boat  to  keep 
them  ready  for  a  push,  for  fear  the  enemy  might  try 
to  impede  their  retreat.  The  party  were  then  march 
ed  in  five  divisions  to  the  house,  which'  was  just 
one  mile  from  the  shore,  preserving  the  strictest 
silence. 

The  entrance  to  the  house  where  Gen.  Prescott 
had  taken  his  quarters,  was  by  three  doors  on  the 
south,  east  and  west;  three  of  the  five  divisions 
•were  to  attack  each  a  door.  The  fourth  to  guard 
the  road,  the  fifth  to  act  on  emergencies.  They  left 
the  guard  house  on  the  left,  on  the  right  was  a  house 
where  a  party  of  light  horse  were  quartered  in  order 
to  carry  orders  from  Gen.  Prescott,  to  any  part  of 
the  Island.  When  they  opened  the  gate  of  the  front 
yard,  the  sentinel  who  stood  about  twenty-five  yards 
from  them  hailed  "  Who  comes  there  1"  They  gave 
no  answer,  but  continued  inarching  on.  There  be 
ing  a  row  of  trees  between  them,  he  could  not  so 
\vell  distinguish  their  number.  He  again  hailed,  and 
they  answered  "friends."  "  Advance  and  give  the 
countersign."  To  which  Gen.  Barton  answered,  as 
in  a  great  passion,  "  We  have  no  countersign,  but 
have  you  seen  any  deserters  to  night  1"  This  had 
been  contrived  as  a  decoy,  and  it  had  the  effect,  for 
before  he  suspected  them  to  be  enemies,  they  had 
seized  his  musket  and  made  him  prisoner,  telling 
him  if  he  made  the  least  noise,  he  should  be  put  to 
death.  They  asked  him  "if  Gen.  Prescott  was  in 
the  house  1"  He  was  so  frierhtened  at  first  he  could 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  63 

not  speak  ;  but  at  length,  waving  his  hand  towards 
the  house,  he  said  "yes."  By  this  time  each  divis 
ion  had  got  its  station,  and  the  doors  were  burst  in. 
They  first  went  into  the  chamber  of  Mr.  Overing, 
the  General  was  not  there ;  then  into  the  one  Mr. 
Overing's  son  lodged  in ;  he  said  the  General  was 
not  there.  Col.  Barton  then  went  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  called  to  the  soldiers  without  "  to  set  the 
house  on  fire,  as  he  was  determined  to  have  Gen. 
Prescott,  either  dead  or  alive."  On  this  they  heard 
a  voice  below  calling  "  What  is  the  matter  1"  Col. 
Barton  entered  the  room  below  from  whence  it  came, 
and  saw  a  man  just  rising  out  of  bed,  and  clapping 
him  on  the  shoulder  asked  him  if  he  was  Gen.  Pres 
cott  1  He  answered  "Yes,  Sir!"  The  Colonel  then 
told  him  he  was  his  prisoner:  he  rejoined,  "  I  ac 
knowledge  it,  Sir."  The  Colonel  then  desired  him 
to  hurry.  He  requested  leave  to  put  on  his  clothes; 
the  Colonel  told  him  "  very  few,  for  their  business 
required  haste."  In  the  mean  time,  Major  Barring- 
ton,  the  General's  aid-de-camp,  finding  the  house 
was  attacked,  leaped  out  of  the  window,  and  was 
immediately  made  prisoner.  After  the  General  had 
got  on  a  few  clothes,  they  marched  away  for  the 
shore.  In  order  to  make  the  General  keep  up  with 
them,  Col.  Barton  made  him  put  one  arm  over  his 
shoulder  and  the  other  over  another  officer's,  and  in 
this  manner  with  Major  Barrington  and  the  sentinel 
in  the  middle  of  the  party,  they  arrived  at  the  boats, 
where  they  put  the  General's  coat  on  him  and  seat 
ed  him  in  No.  1.  The  General  seeing  the  five  small 
boats  and  knowing  where  the  shipping  lay,  appeared 
much  confused,  and  asked  Col.  Barton  if  he  com 
manded  the  parly  1  Upon  being  answered  in  the  af- 


64  TALES NATIONAL 

firmative,  he  said,  "  /  hope  you  will  not  hurt  me." — 
Col.  Barton  assured  him  "  while  in  his  power  he 
should  not  be  injured." 

After  they  had  got  a  short  distance  from  the  shore, 
they  heard  the  alarm,  three  cannons,  and  saw  three 
sky-rockets.  It  was  fortunate  for  them  that  the  en 
emy  on  board  the  shipping  could  not  know  the  occa 
sion  of  it,  as  they  might  with  ease  have  cut  off  their 
communication  with  the  mam.* 

They  rowed  at  no  small  rate,  for  upon  landing  at 
Warwick  Neck  at  day-light,  the  place  from  whence 
they  started,  they  discovered  they  had  been  gone 
from  there  but  just  six  hours  and  a  half.  The  Gen 
eral  as  he  landed  turned  to  Col.  Barton  and  said, 

"  Sir,  you  have  made  a  d d  bold  push  to-night." 

He  replied  "we  have  been  fortunate."  The  Gene 
ral  and  his  aid  were  then  permitted  to  retire  for  rest, 
while  Col.  Barton  sent  to  Warwick  town  for  a  horse 
and  chaise,  and  orders  for  the  best  breakfast  that 
could  be  procured.  An  express  was  then  sent  to 
Major  Gen.  Spencer  at  Providence,  who  immediately 
sent  a  coach  to  conduct  the  General  prisoner  to 
Providence.f 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  July,  that 
Capt.  William  Brown,  a  connection  of  the  Read  fam 
ily,  who  had  often  laughed  at  the  pomposity  of  Pres- 
cott,  exhibited  during  his  dialogue  with  Mrs.  Read, 

*  It  has  been  erroneously  stated  that  the  party  of  light 
horse  stationed  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  rushed 
down  upon  them,  just  as  they  pushed  from  the  shore. 

t  Gen.  Prescott  was  afterwards  exchanged  for  Gen.  Lee. 
There  was  certainly  no  parallel  between  the  captures 
of  the  two  Generals ;  as  Lee  was  quartered  full  twenty 
miles  from  his  army,  with  only  a  handful  of  attendants 
near  him.  Prescott  in  sight  of  a  body  of  light  horse  and 
in  view  of  his  shipping. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  65 

came  running  into  her  house  without  any  cereraony. 
"  My  dear  madam,"  said  he,  out  of  breath,  "your 
old  persecutor,  General  Prescott  is  coming,  and  will 
be  here  to-day." 

"  What!"  said  Mrs.  Read,  "there  is  no  alarm." 
But  the  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  her  mouth, 
than  the  guns  fired,  and  all  without  was  uproar  and 
confusion. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  cousin  Mary,"  said  he,  '•  he 
is  a  prisoner,  to  Col.  Barton,  and  will  shortly  pass 
your  door."  Here  he  related  the  confused  account 
of  the  capture  which  he  had  hastily  collected,  and 
"  Now,  Mary,"  said  Capt.  Brown,  "lam  going  to  give 
you  an  obligation  under  my  hand,  that  if  you  will 
stand  in  your  door  and  welcome  the  General  to  Prov 
idence,  I  will  pay  you  fifty  dollars.  He  cannot  have 
forgotten  his  own  words,  nor  your  looks,"  (he  might 
well  say  so,  for  no  one  that  ever  saw  her  speaking 
countenance  could  ever  have  forgotten  it.) 

"It  is  a  bargain,"  said  Mrs /Read,  "I  will  give 
him  the  promised  welcome."  Accordingly,  when 
the  carriage  came  past,  she  threw  open  the  front 
door,  and  presented  her  majestic  figure. 

Seated  in  an  open  hack  and  bare-headed,,  beside 
his  brave  captor,  sat  the  once  arrogant,  but  now 
completely  mortified  General.  Gone  was  the  look 
of  hauteur — the  air  of  command — the  mein  of  defi 
ance — thatbut  a  few  days  before  characterized  Gen. 
Prescott.  Mrs.  Read  could  distinguish  nothing  of 
the  look  with  which  he  threatened  to  follow  her  to 
Providence.  It  seemed,  she  said,  as  though  he  had 
seen  ten  years  at  least,  since  that  period ;  and  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  encountered  her  scrutinizing 
glance,  his  fell  in  undissembled  confusion.  He 


66  TALES NATIONAL 

doubtless  thought  she  was  going  to  speak  to  him,  and 
she  was,  but  the  woman  overcame  the  heroine,  and 
she  stepped  back  and  closed  the  door,  unable  to 
triumph  over  the  fallen.  The  loud  huzzas  and  shouts 
that  greeted  the  victor  who  sat  by  his  side,  had  not 
yet  ceased  to  echo  through  the  streets,  when  the  vig 
ilant  Captain  made  his  appearance  to  know  if  Mary 
could  claim  the  promised  reward,  and  great  was  his 
chagrin  and  disappointment  that  he  had  not  got  to 
pay  it. 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  67 


CHAPTER  VIII.  , 

"  When  lo !  where  ocean's  bounds  extend, 
"  I  saw  the  Gallic  sails  ascend, 
"  With  favoring  breezes  stem  their  way, 
"  -And  ciowd  with  ships  the  spacious  bay." 

THE  inactive  business  of  guarding  the  harbor  of 
Boston,  was  one  entirely  unsuited  to  the  genius  of 
Capt.  Read.  He  therefore  got  released  in  order  to 
act,  once  more,  upon  his  favorite  element,  the  sea, 
and  here  there  is  an  interregnum,  a  kind  of  blank, 
in  his  history,  which  we  wish  it  were  in  our  power 
satisfactorily  to  fill  up.  We  only  know  that  he  first 
sailed  from  Boston  and  was  taken,  got  exchanged 
immediately,  and  went  again  master  of  another  pri 
vateer  ;  was  again  taken  and  made  his  escape  :  got 
back  to  Providence,  and  according  to  the  certificate 
of  Capt.  Charles  Sheldon,  at  the  end  of  this  book, 
he  sailed  from  this  port  in  a  small  sloop,  called  the 
"Modesty,"  in  which  he  was  for  a  time  eminently 
successful.  But  previous  to  this,  his  family  had  to 
suffer  incredible  hardships.  During  his  misfortunes, 
their  difficulties  and  privations  were  very  great. — 
His  wife  had  the  care  of  four  children.  Mrs.  Brown, 
his  sister,  had  the  care  of  the  oldest  and  of  their 
mother ;  and  Rosa  subsisted  by  the  humble  occupa 
tion  of  nursing  the  sick.  It  would  fill  a  volume  to 
relate  their  various  trials.  On  one  occasion,  Mrs. 
Read  used  to  relate,  that  she  had  no  bread  in  the 
house,  nor  money  to  purchase ;  that  she  forbore  to 
trouble  her  friends,  who  she  judged  had  been  kind  to 


68  TALES — NATIONAL 

her  according  to  their  abilities,  and  for  a  short  time 
she  sat  down  in  utter  helplessness,  not  knowing 
which  way  to  look  for  relief.  She  was  aroused  by  a 
proclamation  made  in  the  streets  of  a  load  of  meal  to 
be  distributed  in  the  market  to  the  poor;  only  re 
quiring  them  to  send  in  the  number  of  their  family. 
(It  had  been  taken  from  a  countryman  who  was 
selling  it  by  false  measures.)  She  immediately  sent 
the  oldest  of  her  children  and  received  a  peck.  She 
used  often  to  speak  of  this  in  after  years  as  a  remark 
able  providence  in  her  favor.  The  writer  of  this  nar 
rative  has  heard  her  many  years  after,  relate  this  to 
a  circle  of  children,  as  a  lesson  never  to  distrust  the 
providence  of  God. 

The  good  fortune  of  Capt.  Read  was  but  of  short 
duration.  He  was  taken  again  and  again,  and  finally 
for  the  ninth  time ;  but  he  always  had  the  good  fort 
une  to  get  exchanged  soon,  or  get  a  chance  to  run 
away.  The  latter  he  effected  several  times,  and  es 
caped  his  foes  at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  in  an  almost 
miraculous  manner.  There  was  one  reason  why  he 
was  so  fortunate  in  getting  exchanged  ;  he  had  many 
warm  friends,  in  every  seaport,  who  had  pledged 
themselves  to  exert  every  nerve,  to  obtain  his  ex 
change,  whenever  he  should  be  taken.  Such  had 
been  the  strict  honesty  of  his  dealings,  his  undevi- 
atmg  integrity  in  all  commercial  transactions,  and 
these  had  already  been  quite  extensive,  that  he  had 
powerful  friends  among  the  merchants  in  particular. 
After  being  prisoner  for  the  ninth  time  he  was  once 
more  exchanged  and  sent  to  Boston.  At  several 
periods  while  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  he  had  en 
dured  some  pretty  rigorous  treatment,  and  personal 
resentment  was  now  added  to  the  flame  of  patriot- 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  69 

isin,  and  he  protested  "if  he  once  more  had  the  com 
mand  of  a  vessel  he  would  retrieve  his  former  losses, 
or  perish  in  the  attempt."  Misfortune  however,  had 
seemed  so  linked  to  his  fate,  that  he  doubted  now 
whether  any  would  be  forward  to  entrust  him  with  a 
vessel.  He  was  however,  agreeably  disappointed  in 
this,  as  a  number  of  gentleman  (in  that  truly  liberal 
minded  place — that  has  ever  been  justly  celebrated 
for  its  public  spirit  and  beneficence,)  immediately 
stepped  forward  and  offered  him  the  command  of  a 
vessel.  One  of  them  was  named  "  Topham,"  the 
writer  regrets  she  was  not  made  acquainted  with  the 
names  of  the  others.  They  purchased  a  new  and 
finely  built  brig,  which  they  called  "  The  Rocham- 
beau."  In  this  he  embarked  with  a  picked  crew. — 
She  was  an  excellent  sailer,  and  remarkably  fortu 
nate  in  her  first  cruises,  and  the  old  adage  used  often 
to  be  cited  with  respect  to  her  Captain,  "That  it  is 
a  long  lane  that  never  turns."  He  fought  like  a 
dragon,  and  the  owners  had  occasion  to  felicitate 
themselves  in  the  fortunate  choice  they  had  made. 
They  must  have  accumulated  an  immense  sum  by 
her  prizes.  Capt.  Read  himself  made  a  fortune  in 
her,  and  the  affection  of  all  her  sailors — and  the  ready 
zeal  which  they  always  testified  to  follow  him  to  the 
cannon's  mouth,  proved  the  exact  justice  which  he 
awarded  to  them.  It  was  not  lessened  by  the  dig 
nity  of  his  deportment.  He  was  a  strict  disciplina 
rian.  Yet  there  never  was  any  complaint  made  of 
him  on  that  score. 

The  effect  of  this  reverse  of  fortune  upon  the  fam 
ily  of  Capt.  Read,  may  be  better  imagined,  than  I 
can  describe  it.  Rosa  used  to  relate  with  much  ap 
parent  triumph,  how  often  during  that  season,  the 


70  TALES — NATIONAL 

guns  fired  at  the  news  of  a  prize  to  Capt.  Read. 
She  said  in  those  days,  "  the  females  generally  used 
to  run  into  the  street  when  a  gun  was  fired,  to  know 
what  it  meant,  and  many  were  the  needless  alarms 
from  the  fear  that  the  British  were  coming."  It  is 
related  at  one  time  five  prizes  were  announced  in 
three  days  to  Capt.  Read. 

But  if  they  had  been  elated  with  this  cheering 
circumstance  on  the  one  hand,  they  had  suffered  a 
corresponding  depression  on  another.  Every  one 
knows  the  aggravation  of  being  mocked  with  a 
promise  of  any  blessing  to  which  we  have  set_our 
hearts ;  and  the  exiled  inhabitants  of  Newport 
looked  forward  to  the  moment  of  their  return  to 
their  terrestrial  Paradise,  with  as  much  impatience  as 
ever  the  Israelites  looked  to  the  promised  land. 

The  arrival  of  the  brave  and  gallant  D'Estaing  in 
the  harbor  of  Newport,  had  convinced  every  one  of 
them  that  the  hour  of  restoration  was  at  hand ;  and 
so  great  was  the  rejoicing  among  its  inhabitants  in 
the  neighboring  towns,  that  they  rushed  tumultuous- 
ly  together,  to  exchange  gratulations  upon  the  ap 
proaching  event.  What  then  must  have  been  their 
disappointment,  when  he  withdrew  his  fleet  in  the 
vain  pursuit  of  Lord  Howe ;  when  he  forsook  a  post 
which  he  might  have  filled  with  real  advantage,  for 
a  chimerical  project!  Doubtless,  they  all  exclaimed 
"had  he  kept  his  station,  he  would  soon  have  starv 
ed  out  the  enemy,  and  compelled  the  reduction  of 
the  garrison,"  but  all  in  vain  was  the  reproach  ;  he 
had  taken  the  whim  to  go ;  and  Frenchman  like,  he 
was  off  in  a  moment.  However,  he  was  the  cause  at 
a  later  period  of  the  final  evacuation  of  Newport  by 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  71 

the  British.*  After  the  attempt  to  take  Savannah, 
by  D'Estaing,  in  1779,  lie  continued  for  some  days 
upon  the  coast  of  Georgia,  and  the  British  Generals 
fearing  he  might  make  a  sudden  descent  upon  R. 
Island,  made  their  retreat  from  Newport,  with  so 
much  precipitation,  that  they  left  behind  them  all 
their  heavy  artillery,  and  a  considerable  quantity  of 
stores.  "Thus  Rhode-Island,  which  had  fallen 
peaceably  into  the  hands  of  the  Royalists,  returned 
quietly  into  their  possession."  It  was  taken  and  re 
taken  without  the  shedding  of  blood.  The  Republic 
ans  after  the  evacuation  of  Newport  had  the  wit  to 
keep  the  "British  colors  flying  for  some  days  on 
the  ramparts,  by  which  means  they  decoyed  into 
their  power  many  of  the  King's  vessels  that"  came  to 
surrender  themselves  at  Newport.  Rhode-Island 
returned  into  the  possession  of  the  Americans  the 
twenty-fifth  of  Oct.  1779." 

The  triumph  which  this  event  occasioned  to  the 
patriotic  feelings  of  Mrs.  Read  and  her  family  was 
allayed  by  the  occurrence  of  a  mournful  catastro 
phe,  which  drowned  their  rejoicings  in  tears.  As 
soon  as  the  movement  to  evacuate  Newport  was 
known,  ves  sels  from  various  quarters  were  on  the 
alert  to  catch  some  of  the  stragglers.  Among  the 
rest,  a  vessel  called  the  Hazard,  of  Boston,  comman 
ded  by  a  Capt.  Johnson,  which  was  then  cruising 
off  the  coast,  was  one.  Another  called  the  Black 

*  D'Estaing  seemed  fated  to  make  some  compensa 
tion  to  the  inhabitants  of  Newport,  besides  being  ulti 
mately  the  cause  of  the  removal  of  the  British.  He  v\as 
.  the  Captor  of  Wallace,  in  the  Experiment  of  50  guns,  off 
the  coast  of  Georgia,  Sept.  1st,  1779,  about  7  weeks  be 
fore  the  evacuation  of  Newport. 


72  TALES — NATIONAL 

Snake,  from  Wickford,  commanded  by  Capt.  Isaac 
Carr,  went  out  on  purpose.  In  the  latter  went 
George  Brown ;  he  was  not  a  seaman,  but  the  ex 
citement  of  the  occasion  carried  him  with  a  number 
of  others  who  knew  nothing  of  naval  affairs.  Un 
fortunately,  those  two  vessels  descried  one  another, 
just  out  the  harbor  of  Newport,  and  each  believing 
the  other  to  belong  to  the  enemy,  prepared  for  ac 
tion.  The  Hazard  bore  down  upon  the  other,  and 
they  encountered  just  off  Block  Island.  The  dark 
ness  ,  for  it  was  in  the  night,  prevented  their  distin 
guishing  American  colors.  Neither  was  inclined  to 
yield  ;  and  grappling,  they  fought  with  the  fury  of  ti 
gers,  and  each  was  in  the  act  of  boarding  the  other, 
a  circumstance  almost  unprecedented,  before  they 
discovered  their  mistake.  Several  were  very  badly 
wounded,  and  one  killed,  and  that  one  the  unfortu 
nate  George  Brown.  Intending  to  go  upon  this  en 
terprise,  on  the  preceding  Sabbath  he  appeared  at 
Church  and  put  up  prayers  for  a  safe  return,  after 
which  he  immediately  embarked,  and  was  returned 
on  Tuesday  evening  a  corpse.*  This  shocking 
event  was  more  than  a  counterpoise  to  the  pleasure 
of  returning  to  Newport.  Mr.  Brown  was  a  peaceable, 
industrious  and  patriotic  citizen.  He  left  but  one 
child,  a  daughter,  who  was  married  to  a  Mr.  Larch- 
er,  and  whose  descendants  are  now  residents  in 
Ohio,  and  the  Western  part  of  New-York. 

The  widow  of  George  Brown,  and  Rosa,  conclu 
ded  to  reside  at  Providence,  but  Capt.  Read  hasten- 

*The  particulars  of  this  unfortunate  affair,  I  had  from 
an  aged  citizen  of  this  place,  who  was  in  the  Hazard  at 
the  time,  Capt.  Turpin  Smith. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY. 

ed  upon  the  first  news  of  the  retreat  of  the  army  to 
remove  his  family  to  Newport.  They  were  accom- 
pained  by  Rosa,  and  here  a  scene  of  destruction  and 
desolation  presented  itself  new  to  them,  but  proba 
bly  parallelled  in  most  captured  towns.  Their  lit 
tle  cottage  at  the  beach,  was  nearly  ruined,  and  I 
think  suffered  to  fall  to  decay  without  being  tenant 
ed  again. 

Many  of  the  finest  houses,  which  were  only  left 
standing  for  convenience,  were  yet  completely  ruin 
ed  by  having  been  made  barracks  off.  Wood  split 
on  the  best  floors,  and  superb  mantle-pieces  and 
doors  torn  off  to  burn,  as  occasion  required,  and 
every  other  act  of  wanton  spoliation  that  could  be 
conceived  of.  Capt.  Read  purchased  and  refitted  a 
house  in  Broad-street,  where  they  removed,  which 
is  still  designated  by  the  cyphers  O.  R.  inserted  in 
the  pavement  in  front,, though  it  has  long  ceased  to 
be  the  property  of  his  unfortunate  family. 

The  Rochambeau  still  continued  her  successful 
cruises,  and  one  or  two  of  her  prizes  were  said  to 
be  taken  on  the  coast  of  England.  She  was  such 
a  swift  sailer,  as  to  bid  defiance  in  a  chase,  and  this 
induced  a  feeling  of  security  that  proved  disastrous 
in  the  end.  Her  Captain,  of  course,  was  rarely  on 
shore.  He  would  frequently  convoy  a  prize  into 
port,  and  just  stop  for  refreshment  or  to  recruit,  and 
be  immediately  off  again. 

The  depredations  of  the  Rochambeau  had  become 
so  notorious  at  length,  as  to  excite  considerable  at 
tention,  and  various  expedients  were  devised  by  the 
enemy  to  get  her  into  their  power.  Several  English 
vessels  were  watching  for  her  upon  the  coast,  and  one 
had  for  some  time  been  on  the  look-out  near  LittleEgg 
Harbor.  This  place  had  long  been  a  famous  resort 


74  TALES — NATIONAT, 

for  ships  of  both  nations.  It  had  once  been  in 
possession  of  the  British,  at  the  time  they  nearly 
overrun  New-Jersey.  But  although  the  army  un 
der  Lord  Clinton  still  continued  their  predatory 
excursions  in  the  State,  this  place  had  never  since 
been  molested. 

But  we  must  look  back  a  few  moments  to  the 
evacuation  of  Newport.  At  the  time  the  army  left 
it,  there  were  also  a  number  of  loyalists,  who  had 
rendered  themselves  so  justly  obnoxious  to  the 
country,  as  to  make  it  prudent  to  retreat  likewise. 
Among  them  was  a  person  by  the  name  of  Cran- 
dall,  who  warmly  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Eng 
lish,  and  who  had  been  the  occasion  of  much 
persecution  to  some  of  the  suffering  inhabitants  oi 
Newport,  and  the  cause  of  much  wanton  destruc 
tion  of  property.  He  had  once  been  an  acquaint 
ance  of  Capt.  Read's,  an  old  school-fellow  of  his, 
and  always  professed  great  friendship  for  him. — 
This  man  was  now  heading  a  party  without  the 
harbor,  who  were  endeavoring  to  secure  him  by 
stratagem.  He  had  somehow  obtained  intelligence 
of  Capt.  Read's  sailing  from  New-London,  where 
he  had  just  convoyed  a  prize,  and  waylaid  him  at 
Egg  Harbor.  The  ship  to  which  Crandall  be 
longed  was  securely  anchored  in  a  little  creek  at 
a  considerable  distance ;  while  the  Rochambeau 
cast  hers  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  and  her 
boat  proceeded  to  the  shore  with  the  water  casks. 
They  landed  and  proceeded  to  the  spring  where 
they  generally  took  in  water,  and  their  enemies 
were  directed  to  the  spot  by  a  woman  in  their 
employ.  The  boat's  crew,  taken  by  surprise,  were 
immediately  made  prisoners.  After  dark,  they 


AND    FJBTOLVTIONARY.  75 

loaded  the  boat  with  men,  and  cautiously  pro 
ceeded  alongside.  They  waited  until  they  judged 
the  officers  and  crew  had  turned  in.  The  senti 
nels  on  deck  demanded  the  watch-word,  which 
was  promptly  given,  "  Cahoone  and  the  water." 
How  they  became  possessed  of  it  was  not  known, 
since  the  brave  Cahoone  himself  would  sooner 
have  perished  than  revealed  it.  This  man,  Capt. 
Isaiah  Cahoone,  of  Providence,  who  was  an  offi 
cer  on  board,  was  now  secured  with  his  associates, 
Mr.  John  Tower,  afterwards  Capt.  Tower,  of  Provi 
dence,  and  six  others,  at  the  harbor.  Upon  giving 
the  countersign,  they  were  received,  and  immediately 
secured  the  sentinels  on  deck,  while  their  companions 
leaped  on  board,  and  proceeded  to  fasten  down  the 
hatchways.  Capt.  Reed  himself  was  asleep,  and 
was  awakened  only  to  know  he  was  prisoner  again, 
for  the  tenth  time,  to  an  enemy  from  whom  he  now 
expected  to  receive  no  mercy. 

The  prisoners  being  broug'ht  from  the  shore,  they 
jet  sail  from  New-York,  from  whence  they  were 
immediately  transferred  to  the  Jersey  prison  ship, 
that  place  of  horror  and  despair,  where  death,  array 
ed  in  move  than  mortal  terror,  stood  ready  to  re««iv« 
hif  victims. 


7  6  TALEI— NATIONAL 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Arouud  all  stained  with  rebel  blood, 
"  Like  Milton's  lazar  bouse  it  stood. 
"Where  grim  Despair  attended  nurse, 
"And  Death  was  governor  of  the  house." 

IT  is  not  necessary,  in  this  place,  to  give  a  parti 
cular  description  of  the  Jersey  prison  ship,  since  a 
very  accurate  and  complete  description  of  that  place 
of  horrors,  that  "  floating  hell,"  as  it  has  been  signi 
ficantly  called,  has  so  recently  been  given  by  one  who 
made  a  long  stay  within  her  loathsome  walls.* 
He  judged  it  an  impossibility  to  escape  from  her. 
But  at  a  later  day,  some  daring  souls  have  been  found 
who  were  willing  to  attempt  it,  preferring  death  it 
self  to  a  captivity  so  appalling. 

Capt.  Read  had  the  privilege  of  being  with  two  of 
the  officers  of  his  vessel  in  the  room  where  he  was 
confined,  i.  e.  officers'  room.  At  the  time  they  be 
came  prisoners  on  board  the  Jersey,  their  privileges 
were  circumscribed  within  even  narrower  bounds 
than  they  had  been ;  and  death,  occasioned  by  the 
effluvia  from  so  many  bodies,  so  closely  packed,  was 
making  rapid  strides  among  them. 

They  were  closely  watched,  but  amidst  difficulties 
deemed  insurmountable  by  others,  Capt.  Reed  had 
several  times  made  his  escape  from  the  enemy,  and 
he  was  now  fully  determined  to  accomplish  it,  or  per 
ish  in  the  attempt.  He  communicated  his  plan  to  a 

*Capt.  Dring,  of  Providence, 


AND    RETOLUTIONART. 

few  daring  spirits,  like  himself,  who  willingly  agreed 
to  engage  in  any  enterprise  of  which  he  was  the  head. 
Among  the  foremost  of  these  was  Capt.  Isaiah  Ca- 
hoone,  who  with  Capt.  John  Tower,  were  all  the 
ones  of  his  own  little  band  with  whom  it  was  possi 
ble  to  confer;  and  they,  with  two  or  three  others, 
agreed,  as  there  was  no  chance  to  effect  their  escape 
privately,  to  attempt  it  by  a  coup  de  main.  Accord 
ingly,  they  watched  a  chance  when  the  boat  which 
used  to  bring  provisions  from  the  shore  should  be 
unloaded,  to  jump  in  before  it  should  be  hauled  up, 
push  the  last  man  in  it  overboard,  cutting  the  ropes 
and  pushing  her  off  under  the  guns  of  the  vessel.  My 
account  says,  there  were  five  in  the  plot  besides  Capt. 
Read;  but  I  cannot  find  but  four  who  succeeded  in 
getting  off  besides,  viz.  Capt.  Isaiah  Cahoone,  Capt. 

John  Tower,  Capt.  Cooke,  and  Capt.  

Hopkins,  all  of  Providence  except  Capt.  Read. 

After  waiting  some  days  in  vain  for  a  suitable  op 
portunity,  of  which  they  were  to  judge  by  a  concert 
ed  signal  from  Capt.  Read,  the  favorable  moment  at 
length  presented  itself.  The  season,  though  very 
inclement,  could  not  have  been  better  adapted  to 
their  purpose.  It  was  one  of  the  shortest  days  in 
December,  dark  and  cloudy,  and  evidently  threaten 
ing  a  severe  snow-storm.  Now  and  then  a  few  flakes 
would  fall  on  the  deck,  while  the  thickness  of  the 
atmosphere  on  land,  gave  notice  that  it  had  already 
commenced  falling  in  abundance  at  a  few  miles  dis 
tance.  It  was  near  night,  when  the  boat  returned 
from  the  shore,  and  unloaded  her  provisions.  The 
conspirators  kept  as  near  as  possible  without  exciting 
suspicion;  when,  at  the  signal  given  by  the  Captain 
of  the  Re  hambeau,  each  sprung  forward  and  leaped 


78  TALES — NATIONAL 

after  him  into  the  boat,  where  he  had  already  freed 
himself  from  the  last  man.,  having  hoisted  him  over 
board.  The  ropes  were  cut  in  a  trice,  and  the  boat 
off.  The  alarm  was  instantly  given,  the  guns  of  the 
sentinels  fired  into  the  boat — one  shot  went  through 
her — the  remaining  prisoners  were  secured  below, 
and  efforts  made  to  pursue  the  boat;  but  Providence 
favored  their  attempt.  The  storm,  which  had  been  so 
long  threatening,  now  set  in  with  such  violence,  and 
the  snow  fell  so  thick  and  fast,  that  it  was  deemed 
inexpedient  to  pursue  them.  Capt.  Read  thought 
himself  too  well  acquainted  with  the  shores  of  Long 
Island  to  lose  his  way,  even  in  a  snow  storm;  and 
he  happily  effected  a  landing  of  his  company  in  a 
remote  part,  during  the  night.  Here  they  agreed  to 
separate,  and  each  to  take  a  different  route,  in  order 
the  better  to  effect  his  escape.  After  a  travel  of 
much  suffering,  they  all  got  safe  off  the  island.  Capt. 
Read  got  home  first;  but  the  particulars  of  his  escape 
from  the  island  we  are  unacquainted  with.  Capt. 
Cahoone  was  some  time  getting  home,  likewise  Capt. 
Tower.  The  former  met  with  some  humorous  ad 
ventures,  as  well  as  painful  ones;  he  suffered  ex 
ceedingly  from  the  want  of  food,  and  by  other  priva 
tions;  but  finally  made  his  escape.  Capt.  Cahoone, 
the  third  day  after  his  arrival  on  the  island,  seized  a 
boat  and  pilotted  himself  along  the  Connecticut 
shore,  after  crossing  the  sound  to  Saybrook  (Con.) 
from  whence  he  got  on  to  Providence  by  land. 

Capt.  Read  made  his  escape  to  Newport  with  a 
heart  as  full  of  wrath  against  his  captors,  as  it  was 
possible  to  feel.  The  anecdote  of  his  parting  from 
Crandall,  when  released  from  him  to  go  on  board  the 
Jewey  priion  ship,  is  too  remarkable  to  be  omitted 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  79 

here.  His  last  words  to  that  infamous  fellow,  after 
venting  every  reproach  he  could  think  of,  were — "  A 
short  life  to  one  of  us.  If  we  meet  again,  and  meet 
again  we  shall,  one  of  us  dies."  His  rage  was 
boundless,  and  it  had  not  abated  upon  his  return. 

The  disastrous  news  of  the  capture  of  the  Ro- 
chambeau  reached  Newport  before  the  escape  of  her 
Captain,  and  much  sympathy  was  excited  on  the 
occasion.  Without  giving  himself  any  time  to  re 
cover  from  the  fatigue,  exposure  and  starvation 
attending  his  perilous  escape,  Capt.  Read  set  about 
procuring  another  vessel  of  equal  force,  and  went  in 
pursuit  of  the  Rochambeau.  Three  times  he  return 
ed  with  a  prize  to  Newport,  without  discovering  any 
tidings  of  her.  She  had  been  carried  to  New-York 
and  re-painted,  and  her  present  owners  had  likewise 
given  her  a  new  name;  but  upon  the  fourth  cruise,  he 
discovered  her.  No  vessel,  he  used  to  say,  ever  sat 
upon  the  water  like  her,  and  no  disguise  of  names  or 
colors  could  possibly  deceive  him.  But  the  difficul 
ty  was  to  get  up  with  her;  she  was  such  a  complete 
sailer  that  there  was  no  chance  in  a  fair  chase.  It 
was  not  until  after  many  hours  of  maneuvering,  that 
they  succeeded  in  getting  up  with  her.  Crandall 
was  now  her  Captain.  He  seemed  to  have  an  in 
stinctive  dread  of  his  pursuer,  although  he  could  have 
had  no  suspicion  of  her  commander,  who  he  probably 
judged  to  be  safe  in  the  hold  of  the  Jersey;  for  upon 
her  coming  near,  he  hoisted  American  colors;  and 
on  being  hailed,  answered,  '  An  American  privateer.' 
Who  commands'!  £  Capt.  Read,  of  Newport."  They 
were  answered  by  a  broadside  from  Capt.  Read's  ves 
sel,  as  he  displayed  himself  to  his  astonished  antago 
nist,  and  he  was  compelled  to  prepare  for  action.  It 


80  TALES — NATIONAL 

was  the  intention  of  Capt.  Read  to  have  grappled 
with  her,  and  fought  man  to  man;  but  in  this,  Cran- 
dall,  favored  by  the  wind,  was  successful  in  foiling 
him.  They  came  so  near,  however,  as  to  distinctly 
hear  the  voice  of  Crandall  commanding  his  men  "  to 
kill  the  Captain,  if  possible,  the  first  fire."  This 
was  only  wanting  to  elevate  the  feelings  of  the  Re 
publican  crew  to  the  highest  pitch  of  resentment. 
A  battle  commenced,  in  which  each  party  was  de 
termined  to  give  up  only  with  life.  The  refugee 
Captain  had  a  sailing-master  on  board,  as  ferocious 
as  himself,  and  a  number  of  marines;  and  their  de 
termination  seemed  to  be  to  sink  the  American  ves 
sel,  if  they  could  not  take  her.  But  Capt.  Read'ji 
was  to  take  the  Rochambeau  at  all  hazards.  The 
combat  raged  for  several  hours  with  the  greatest  fury. 
The  American  crew  seemed  nerved  to  frenzy.  They 
had  missed  the  Captain  of  the  enemy's  vessel,  and 
they  were  persuaded  he  had  fallen;  and  this  circum 
stance  convinced  them  that  the  battle  would  finally 
be  theirs.  Things  have  been  related  of  the  despe 
rate  valor  and  ferocious  courage  displayed  in  this 
encounter,  almost  too  much  to  believe;  and  one  cir 
cumstance  out  of  many  may  be  selected,  as  a  speci 
men  of  their  frantic  courage,  which  a  certificate  at 
the  end  of  this  tale  will  confirm  the  truth  of,  which 
proves  that  it  approached  almost  to  madness.  A 
young  lad  on  board  the  American,  named  Benjamin 
Cornell,  attached  to  Capt.  Read,  while  in  the  heat 
of  the  battle,  bared  his  bosom  and  defied  the  English 
to  kill  him!  He  was  then  on  the  rigging,  and  a  fatal 
shot  the  next  instant  laid  him  dead  upon  the  deck. 
At  length  the  firing  from  the  Rochambeau  ceased, 
and  a  flaw  of  wind  blowing  aside  the  dense  smoke 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.         ,  81 

in  which  she  was  involved,  discovered  the  red  crosi 
prostrate. 

However  sweet  revenge  may  be  in  anticipation, 
the  writer  of  this  narrative  is  led  to  believe  it  cannot 
be  so  in  retrospection.  It  was  not,  at  any  rate,  to 
one  of  Capt.  Read's  naturally  refined  and  benevolent 
feelings.  He  could  never,  to  the  end  of  his  days, 
speak  of  the  scene  that  presented  itself  upon  step 
ping  on  board  of  the  Rochambeau,  without  a  feeling 
of  pain.  "  The  blood  upon  her  decks,"  he  said, 
"  was  nearly  over  shoes."  There  lay  the  head  of 
the  treacherous  and  ferocious  Crandall  in  one  place, 
and  his  body  in  another.  He  had  been  killed  in  the 
early  part  of  the  contest;  and  the  latter  part  of  it 
had  been  so  fatal  to  the  Rochambeau,  that  I  think 
there  was  but  one  man  lelt  to  take  down  the  col 
ors. 

Several  brave  fellows  fell  in  the  Republican  vessel, 
a  source  of  great  regret  to  her  Captain;  yet  the  day 
that  saw  him  enter  his  native  port  triumphant  from 
the  fight,  and  accompanied  by  his  favorite  brig,  was 
one  of  great  exultation, 

About  this  time  Rosa  returned  to  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Brown,  in  Providence.  She  said  the  courage 
of  Mary  (Mrs.  Read)  had  still  to  support  her  through 
many  trials.  One  anecdote  related  of  her  courage  at 
this  time,  deserves  record.  In  one  of  the  cruises  of 
her  husband,  he  had  taken  a  vessel  with  a  quantity 
of  specie  on  board.  The  thing  was  much  talked  of 
at  the  time,  being  such  a  rich  prize,  and  it  was  known 
that  a  box  of  it  was  deposited  at  his  house.  There 
were  no  persons  lodged  at  the  house  except  Mrs. 
Read  and  her  children ;  the  night  succeeding  her 
husband's  departure,  she  had  some  apprehension  on 


82  TALE* — NATIONAL 

account  ot  the  property  which  was  confided  to  her 
care,  and  took  the  precaution  to  have  it  placed  under 
her  bed.  On  the  table,  at  the  bed's  head,  she  kept 
a  lamp  burning,  and  a  hanger  laid  beside  it,  and  she 
herself  went  quietly  to  sleep.  Her  oldest  daughter 
felt  very  timid,  and  could  not  sleep.  About  mid 
night,  she  went  to  her  mother's  room,  and  told  her 
there  was  some  one  trying  to  pry  open  the  cellar 
kitchen  window.  Mrs.  Read  hastily  arose,  and  tak 
ing  the  lamp  in  one  hand,  and  the  hanger  in  the  other, 
resolutely  but  softly  stole  down  stairs.  A  man  had 
just  got  his  head  and  shoulders  through  the  window, 
and  ere  he  could  draw  himself  back,  she  pitched  at 
him  with  the  hanger.  Two  men  immediately  ran 
from  the  house,  and  upon  examining  the  window,  it 
was  discovered  from  a  few  drops  of  blood,  that  one 
of  them  had  been  wounded.  She  took  precautions, 
however,  to  remove  the  specie  next  day  to  a  place 
of  deposit. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  35 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Amnz'd,  the  Briton's  startled  pride 
"  Sees  ruin  wake  on  every  side ; 
"  Not  Cadmus  views  with  more  turpris* 
"  From  earth  embattled  armies  rise." 

AFTER  the  Rochambeau  had  been  completely  re 
fitted,  her  adventurous  Captain  once  more  set  sail  in 
her.  She  continued  to  cruise  with  great  success  dur 
ing  the  war,  although  every  exertion  was  made  to  get 
possession  of  her  by  the  enemy.  Taught  by  bitter 
experience  the  necessity  of  extreme  caution,  her  Cap 
tain  and  crew  were  never  found  off  their  guard  again. 
It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1782,  that  in  one  of 
her  cruises  a  little  off  Sandy  Hook,  she  learnt 
the  capture  of  the  brig  Spy,  a  valuable  vessel  be 
longing  to  Clarke  &  Nightingale,  of  Providence.  She 
was  bound  to  North-Carolina,  and  was  taken  in  lat. 
32,  and  sent  into  New -York.  She  was  taken  by  his 
Britannic  Majesty's  ship  of  war  Lion,  of  64  guns. 
This  ship,  it  may  be  recollected,  was  in  the  battle  of 
Grenada,  attached  to  the  fleet  of  Com.  Byron, 
when  that  Island  was  taken  by  the  French,  under 
Count  D'Estaing;  when  completely  dismantled  and 
almost  a  wreck,  she  escaped  to  Jamaica.  Afterwards, 
in  1780,  she  fought  a  very  obstinate  battle,  in  which 
she  sustained  great  injury,  off  Cape  Francois,  in 
company  with  three  others,  under  command  of  Com. 
Cornwallis,  against  the  Arubal  and  Diomede,  com 
manded  by  the  Chevalier  de  la  Motte  Piquet.  She 


84  TAI.ES — NATIONAL 

was  now  cruising  off  the  coasts  of  North-Carolina 
and  Georgia.  The  Spy  was  a  valuable  brig,  having 
a  commission  from  government,  and  was  commanded 
by  Capt.  Samuel  Godfrey,  of  Providence,  and  had  on 
board  500  bushels  of  salt,  5  hhds.  of  molasses,  7  of 
Taffia  rum,  besides  a  quantity  of  sugar  and  coffee. 
The  Captain  and  a  part  of  the  crew  were  taken  out, 
and  the  remainder,  with  the  brig  and  her  cargo,  sent 
to  New-York,  under  command  of  the  first  Midship 
man,  as  prize-master,  with  a  number  of  English  sai 
lors. 

Capt.  Read  having  moored  his  vessel  in  a  secure 
place,  was  on  the  look-out,  near  Sandy  Hook,  when 
the  Spy  came  up  under  English  colors.  She  dropped 
anchor  off  the  Hook,  waiting  for  a  Pilot.  Placing 
himself  in  a  small  boat,  with  only  a  few  stout  men 
for  rowers,  the  Capt.  of  the  Rochambeau  boldly  went 
alongside,  and  offered  his  services  to  pilot  her  to 
New -York.  The  bargain  was  soon  struck,  and  the 
new  Pilot  at  the  helm.  Going  as  near  to  New-York 
as  safety  would  permit,  he  continued  to  amuse  them 
for  some  time,  with  the  belief  that  they  approached 
the  end  of  their  voyage.  But  the  wind  being  fair  for 
Newport,  he  suddenly  put  her  before  it;  and  crowd 
ing  all  sail,  was  far  on  her  course  before  the  enemy 
were  aware  of  it:  and  when  they  did  discover  it,  it 
appears  the  design  was  not  suspected;  but  rather  that 
the  Pilot  had  mistook  their  destination;  for  calling 
out  at  last,  the  prize-master  said,  "  Sir,  we  are  going 
to  New- York!" 

"No,  Sir,"  said  the  Pilot,  turning  to  him  with  a 
low  bow,  and  then  recovering  himself  with  an  air  of 
dignity  and  command  peculiarly  his  own,  and  which 
was  always  successful  in  ensuring  obedience  and 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  85 

distancing  familiarity;  "  No,  Sir;  we  are  going  to 
Newport."  The  commander  saw  e.t  once  they  were 
taken,  and  yielded  the  victory  without  bloodshed. 
This  may  appear  extraordinary  ?nd  \i  is  so.  It  is 
neverthless  true.  They  were  taken  so  by  surprise — 
the  cool  and  resolute  courage  of  the  Pilot — his  entire 
self-possession,  and  the  presence  o*"  his  few  but  firm 
friends,  who  had  leaped  up  from  the  boat,  and  now 
stood  at  his  elbow — and  above  all,  the  certainty  that 
no  one  would  have  engaged  in  such  an  undertaking  as 
that  of  the  Pilot's,  without  being  armed  at  all  points, 
and  resolved  to  defend  themselves  at  all  hazards — it 
is  probable  influenced  them  to  yield  the  prize  a 
bloodless  victory.  At  any  rate,  they  did  thus  yield 
it,  and  the  Pilot  carried  her  into  Newport  in  triumph. 

It  was  not  much  less  a  triumph  to  Capt.  Godfrey, 
who  was  a  prisoner  on  parole  in  the  city  of  New- 
York,  when  the  prize-master  and  his  company  re 
turned  there,  bearing  the  news  of  the  re-capture  of 
his  vessel.  The  enemy  had  taken  nothing  out  of 
her;  the  cargo  was  therefore  entire,  and  the  brig 
itself  was  soon  afterwards  sold  in  Newport  for 
£1150  sterling. 

The  port  of  Newport  had  been  strongly  fortified, 
it  may  be  recollected,  immediately  after  its  evacua 
tion,  by  the  Americans  and  French.  Once  only 
since  that  period,  have  the  English  made  a  descent 
upon  it,  when  they  came  no  further  than  Hunting- 
ton,  in  the  Sound.  From  thence  their  vessels  dis 
patched  to  reconnoitre,  had  returned  with  such  an 
account  of  the  state  of  the  fortifications,  and  the 
force  of  the  garrison  of  French  and  American  sol 
diers,  that  it  was  not  judged  prudent  to  attack  it. 


86  TALES NATIONAL 

From  that  time  they  remainednmmolested  by  the 
enemy,  and  their  harbor  had  been  the  great  depot  of 
American  cruisers — a  vast  deal  of  British  property 
had  been  brought  in  and  condemned  at  Newport. 
The  brig  Spy,  whose  case  has  been  just  related,  it 
is  believed  was  one  of  the  last.  For  the  account,  the 
writer  is  indebted  to  our  venerable  townsman,  Capt. 
Samuel  Godfrey,  who  was  himself  her  commander. 
Capt.  Read  only  brought  in  one  prize  after  this,  an 
English  merchantman  of  very  considerable  value, 
and  immediately  departed  in  pursuit  of  another, 
which  he  was  within  an  hour's  chase  of,  when  the 
express  sent  out  from  Newport  to  recall  him,  pre 
vented  his  proceeding.  Peace  had  been  proclaimed, 
and  the  news  arrrived  at  Newport  even  before  his 
last  prize  could  be  condemned.  So  the  merchant 
man  escaped. 

There  was  a  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  Newport,  to 
whom  the  news  was  not  over  welcome,  and  who 
thought  they  had  not  yet  taken  sufficient  revenge  for 
the  injuries  that  they  in  a  peculiar  manner  had  sus 
tained.  But  the  great  majority  welcomed  the  news 
with  transport. 


AMD    REVOLUTIOXARY.  87 


CHAPTER  XI. 

'•  AH  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades, 
"  Like  the  fair  flower  dishevell'd  in  the  wind. 
"  Riches  have  wings,  and   grandeur  is   a   dref 
"  The  man  we  celebrate  must  find   a  tomb." 


CAPT.  Read  had  now  made  a  fortune,  which  if  he 
had  been  content  to  have  set  down  and  enjoyed, 
would  have  been  abundantly  sufficient.  But  this  the 
activity  of  his  spirit  forbade.  His  family  were  very 
averse  to  his  going  long  voyages,  and  to  please  them 
in  this,  he  built  a  large  and  elegant  packet,  to  go  to 
the  Southern  ports,  which  in  compliment  to  his  he 
roic  wife,  he  called  "the  Mary."  Many  of  his 
friends  strenuously  urged  him  to  give  himself  repose 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days.  But  the  sea  was  his 
element,  and  he  had  a  family  besides,  who  lived  at 
great  expense.  Not  that  they  took  much  interest  in 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  life;  no  person  could  be 
more  averse  to  this  than  Mrs.  Read.  But  she  had 
suffered  so  severely  in  their  state  of  poverty,  in  the 
early  part  of  the  war,  that  from  that  period,  the  poor 
were  all  considered  as  her  brethren  and  sisters;  their 
claims  were  indiscriminately  allowed,  and  numerous 
were  the  distressed  families  whom  her  bounty  made 
comfortable.  This  system  of  charity  could  not  ex 
ist  without  expense.  Her  husband  too  was  extremely 
benevolent,  and  if  ever  he  complained  of  the  ex 
penses  of  his  family,  he  was  silenced  at  once,  by 
being  reminded  of  his  duty  to  the  poor.  4$ut  to  re 
turn  to  "  the  Mary." 


88  TALES NATIONAL 

She  continued  for  some  time  to  make  voyages  to 
Southern  ports,  until  her  Captain  was  induced  by 
the  pressing  solicitations  of  some  gentlemen  in  New- 
York,  to  take  some  ladies  to  St.  John's  (N.  B.) 
He  was  not  acquainted  with  the  coast,  but  after  en 
gaging  two  Pilots,  who  professed  to  be  acquainted 
with  it,  he  concluded  to  go.  It  was  stipulated  by 
the  Pilots,  that  they  should  be  paid  before  they  sail 
ed,  which  was  done:  But  they  proved  to  be  arrant 
rogues,  entirely  unacquainted  with  the  place  they 
were  going  to.  The  consequence  was,  they  were 
wrecked  upon  that  dangerous  coast.  The  Pilots 
quickly  made  shift  for  themselves,  as  well  as  every 
hand  on  board,  on  the  night  of  the  shipwreck;  and 
the  ladies,  four  in  number,  were  saved  with  a  ser 
vant  girl,  through  the  intrepidity  of  their  Capiain 
alone;  who,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  his  own  life, 
got  them  one  at  a  time  upon  a  rock,  where  they  all 
waited  until  morning.  "  The  Mary"  went  to  pieces. 

This  was  one  of  the  severest  mortifications,  Capt. 
Read  affirmed,  he  ever  experienced.  The  ladies 
were  the  wives  of  refugees,  who  had  fled  to  St. 
John's  in  the  beginning  of  the  war.  They  saved 
nothing  but  their  lives,  and  his  chagrin  upon  en 
tering  St.  John's  next  day,  with  the  ladies,  was 
extreme.  However,  it  seemed  that  even  a  refugee 
may  be  possessed  of  gratitude.  His  reception  from 
their  husbands,  and  the  general  sympathy  expressed 
for  his  loss,  tended  in  some  measure  to  relieve  him. 
The  brave,  although  an  enemy,  are  sure  of  admira 
tion  from  the  English.  The  character  and  exploits 
of  Capt.  Read  were  not  unknown  at  St.  John's,  and 
the  attentions  lavished  upon  him,  during  his  short 
stay  among  them,  were  such  as  he  had  never  receiv- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  89 

ed  before;  and  it  is  not  in  human  nature  not  to  be 
pleased  with  the  admiration,  which  we  feel  we  de 
serve.  The  person  in  question  often  declared  in 
after  years,  that  the  few  weeks  he  spent  at  St.  John's, 
was  one  of  the  pleasantest  seasons  of  his  life.  He 
was  followed  by  the  regrets  of  those  whom  he  had  so 
lately  made  his  friends,  and  loaded  with  many  valu 
able  presents  to  his  family.  By  the  friends  too 
at  New-York,  who  had  persuaded  him  to  undertake 
toe  voyage,  he  was  liberally  remembered;  neverthe 
less  the  loss  of  "  the  Mary"  was  a  great  blow  to 
him,  and  besides,  his  fortune  from  that  day  seemed 
reversed. 

Domestic  affliction  also  had  its  share  in  breaking 
the  spirit  of  this  intrepid  friend  of  his  country.  He 
had  a  daughter,  his  youngest,  whose  singularly  am 
iable  temper  had  endeared  her  in  a  particular  man 
ner  to  her  father.  She  was  besides  in  every  respect 
a  desirable  child.  She  was  but  18,  when  attacked 
by  a  fatal  disease;  and  notwithstanding  every  effort 
to  save  her,  his  beloved  Catharine  was  in  a  few 
months  borne  to  the  grave.  Although  he  had  three 
other  children,  his  hopes  now  seemed  to  centre  in 
his  youngest  son,  a  beautiful  and  interesting  youth, 
who  it  was  mentioned  in  the  former  part  of  this  book, 
was  born  at  Bristol  ferry.  He  as  well  as  his  oldest 
brother,  chose  the  sea.  He  was  absent  with  a  friend 
in  New- York,  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  who  having 
no  family,  was  exceedingly  attached  to  young  Oli 
ver,  and  had  determined  upon  making  him  his  heir. 
He  was  then  going  upon  what  he  called  his  last  voyage, 
with  this  gentleman  to  Batavia.  On  their  return, 
they  were  to  settle  at  New-York.  In  the  unhealthy 


90  TALES— NATIONAL 

climate  of  Java,  Oliver  Read  fell  a  victim  to  an  ep 
idemic  fever,  in  the  bloom  of  opening  manhood.* 
His  adopted  father  hung  over  him  in  agony,  and  af 
ter  his  death,  refused  to  be  comforted.  He  went  into 
a  deep  melancholy  and  followed  his  favorite  to  the 
grave  in  a  few  weeks,  with  no  malady  as  the  physicians 
declared,but  grief.  Oliver's  death  almost  overwhelmed 
his  father.  In  declining  years  he  was,  however,  sup 
ported  by  the  consolations  of  religion,  and  he  made 
an  effort  to  shake  off  the  cares  of  business,  and  set 
down  in  the  enjoyment  of  domestic  peace.  Alas, 
peace  in  this  world  was  not  his  portion ;  but  the  new 
afflictions  he  was  called  to  experience,  destroyed  this 
hope,  and  by  increasing  his  expenses,  obliged  him 
once  more  to  resume  his  laborious  profession. 

His  affections  were  bound  up  in  his  children:  once 
his  country  had  been  his  idol ;  now  his  God  claimed 
a  heart  where  he  would  permit  no  rivals.  One  by 
one,  they  were  torn  from  him  by  death  or  misfortune, 
or  what  was  worse,compelled  to  seek  the  asylum  of  his 
house  again,  as  the  only  refuge  from  domestic  ty 
ranny  and  constant  inquietude.  One  of  his  sons-in- 
law  was  lost  in  the  Irish  Channel,  supposed  to  be 

*I  am  loth  to  introduce  any  thing  in  this  volume  which 
may  appear  like  superstition;  but  as  the  circumstance  re 
lated  to  me  by  Mrs.  Read  many  years  since,  was  remark 
able,  I  cannot  forbear.  Mrs.  Read  told  me,  on  the 
night  young  Oliver  died,  she  Was  awakened  by  a  noise 
of  knocking  at  the  door,  like  his  knock.  She  started  from 
bed,  exclaiming,  "Oliver,  my  son,  is  it  you?"  A  voice, 
answered  "  Yes,  mother,  it  is  I."  She  trembled  so  that  sh& 
could  not  unclose  the  door,  and  her  husband  came  to 
help  her  ;  but  no  son  was  there.  The  news  arrived  too 
soon  of  his  death,  which  occurred  the  very  night. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  91 

run  down  by  one  of  the  convoy,  and  his  destitute 
widow  and  child  had  become  the  inmates  of  her  fa 
ther's  house.  Capt.  Read  at  the  age  of  60,  took 
command  of  a  vessel  to  Point  Petre,  (Guadaloupe) 
where  he  caught  the  yellow  fever,  and  died  soon 
after  he  arrived.  His  oldest  son  about  the  same  time 
arrived  there  from  a  distant  port,  and  upon  taking 
the  fever,  was  conveyed  to. the  house,  where  he 
learned  the  shocking  intelligence  that  his  father 
was  dying  under  the  same  roof.  He  was  unable  to 
see  him,  except  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  him,  as 
they  carried  him  past  his  room  to  the  hearse.  Af 
ter  his  recovery,  he  got  released  from  the  vessel  he 
came  in  as  mate,  and  brought  his  father's  vessel 
back  to  Newport. 

Thus  terminated  the  adventurous  and  laborious  life 
of  Capt.  Oliver  Read,  of  whom  it  may  with  pro 
priety  be  said,  there  never  was  a  warmer  patriot,  nor 
braver  man.  His  moral  character  too,  was  irre 
proachable — his  habits  strictly  temperate — and  his 
affection  for  his  family  and  friends,  ardent  and  sin 
cere.  An  instance  of  his  feelings  for  the  former,  I 
cannot  forbear  mentioning — the  circumstance  of  his 
fainting  at  a  coffee-house  in  Charleston,  upon  re 
cognizing  a  gold  watch  and  chain,  which  had  belong 
ed  to  his  beloved  son  Oliver.  It  was  many  years  after 
his  death,  and  had  doubtless  been  purloined  at  the 
time  of  his  decease,  by  this  very  stranger,  who  upon 
Capt.  Read's  recovery  had  made  his  escape.  If  it 
can  be  called  a  fault,  we  may  say  that  his  implaca 
ble  resentment  towards  the  foes  of  his  country  was 
one.  His  motto  was,  never  to  allow  treason  any 
quarter. 

The  society  of  Free  Masons,   of  \vhich  he  was  a 


92  TALES NATIONAL 

member,  held  him  in  the  highest  respect,  and  al 
though  he  did  not  meet  with  that  body  for  many  of 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  because  his  bowed  down 
spirit,  "  could  not  (as  he  said)  endure  festivity" — 
yet  they  testified  their  sincere  regret  at  his  depart 
ure,  in  their  respectful  condolements  with  his  afflict 
ed  family. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  efforts  of  Capt.  Read, 
to  secure  an  independence  for  his  family,  he  left  them 
but  little  property,  in  comparison  to  the  fortune  he 
had  obtained.  His  widow,  overcome  with  the  do 
mestic  afflctions,  which  had  for  many  years  continu 
ed  to  visit  her  devoted  family,  was  totally  unable  to 
sustain  this  blow,  followed  immediately  as  it  was  by 
the  death  of  her  oldest  daughter.  Her  high  spirit  and 
great  resolution  were  but  illy  calculated  to  support 
her,  where  the  arm  of  Omnipotence  alone  can  sus 
tain.  A  stranger  to  that  heavenly  peace, which  amidst 
his  manifold  trials, had  supported  her  husband  through 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  and  smoothed  his  entrance 
to  the  dark  valley,  her  reason  sunk  under  the  blow, 
and  she  was  soon  reduced  to  a  state  of  imbecility 
resembling  childhood.  Yes,  it  is  with  a  pang  of 
heart  the  writer  of  this  narrative  records,  that  she  has 
seen  the  mind  which  laughed  at  the  threats  of  Wal 
lace,  and  scorned  the  arrogance  of  Prescott,  in  ruins. 

*  *  *  "  *  f  ,]:* 

We  will  now  follow  for  a  few  years,  the  venerable 
narrator  of  this  story,  even  to  the  end  of  her  event 
ful  pilgrimage.  The  affection  of  Rosa  for  her  cous 
in's  family  never  knew  abatement.  Their  oldest 
daughter  had  been  the  adopted  of  her  heart — for  her 
she  would  have  braved  a  world  in  arms — for  her  she 
did  brave  many  and  great  dangers.  The  object  ** 


AiN,D    REVOLUTIONARY^  93 

her  warmest  wishes  had  been  to  have  her  marry  and 
settle  near  her;  that  wish  had  been  accomplished 
when  her  protegee  was  not  more  than  seventeen  years 
of  age.  She  had  seen  her  prosperously  married,  (as 
the  phrase  of  the  world  is,  who  judge  from  outward 
circumstances  alone.)  There  was  one  care  then  off 
her  mind.  To  increase  her  satisfaction,  the  widow 
of  George  Brown,  with  whom  she  continued  to  live, 
was  married  to  Mr.  Daniel  Eddy  of  Johnston  (R.  I.) 
He  had  a  brother,  Thomas  Eddy,  who  was  very  de 
sirous  to  marry  Rosa,  but  being  her  senior  by  about 
twenty  years,  Rosa  hesitated.  The  good  character 
of  the  man  on  the  one  hand,  together  with  the  pros 
pect  of  a  competency,  formed  a  strong  inducement. 
His  age,  on  the  other  hand,  operated  the  other  way. 
Rosa  hesitated — in  this  state  of  indecision,  the  old 
gentleman  secured  her  acquiescence  by  a  manoeuvre 
that  one  would  have  supposed  would  nave  been  the 
last  to  influence  such  a  spirit  as  hers.  He  caus 
ed  the  banns  of  marriage  to  be  proclaimed  between 
him  and  Rosanna  Hicks;  and  Rosa  who  might  before 
this,  have  been  considered  as  bullet  proof,  surrender 
ed  at  discretion;  that  is,  she  married  him  without  any 
longer  time  for  consideration.  "But,"  said  she  (when 
relating  this  circumstance,)  "I  don't  know  as  ever  I 
repented  it;  he  was  one  of  the  kindest  of  hus 
bands."  Mrs.  Daniel  Eddy  again  became  a  widow, 
and  resided  with  Rosa  until  the  end  of  her  days,  with 
her  mother  also,  a  very  aged  woman.  These  three 
all  died  very  near  together,  within  a  short  time  of 
each  other.  Rosa  closed  the  eyes  of  her  aged  aunt 
Read,  and  her  daughter,  the  widow  of  Daniel  Eddy, 
who  both  departed  in  the  triumphs  of  faith,  and  then 
of  her  husband,  Thomas  Eddy. 


94  TALES NATIONAL 

Mr.  Eddy  left  all  his  property  to  Rosa.  He  left  a 
nephew  about  Rosa's  age,  to  \vhom  she  was  married 
within  a  year  after  her  first  husband's  death.  Strange 
to  say,  this  marriage  was  a  very  happy  one.  Mr. 
Eddy  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  men  living, 
and  they  harmonized  in  every  thing.  They  lived  on 
a  little  farm  about  seven  miles  from  Providence,  and 
the  writer  of  this  narrative  has  scarcely  ever  thought 
of  happiness  without  thinking  of  them.  One  only 
thing  seemed  at  times  to  throw  a  gloom  over  the 
habitation  of  Rosa ;  and  that  was  the  number  of 
deaths  that  had  occurred  there.  This  gloom  was 
destined  to  be  increased  by  an  event  more  afflictive 
to  her,  than  all  the  rest  put  together  ;  her  beloved 
Amey  closed  her  unfortunate  life  at  her  house  ere 
she  had  attained  its  meridian.  She  died  while  on  a 
visit  to  Rosa,  in  the  thirty-sixth  year  of  her  age. 
Rosa  never  could  enjoy  her  house  after,  declaring 
"it  looked  like  a  tomb;"  and  upon  her  husband 
proposing  to  remove  to  the  Western  part  of  New- 
York  State,  where  the  land  was  easier  of  cultiva 
tion,  she  readily  and  joyfully  consented. 

Strangers  to  the  country  and  to  the  manners  of  the 
inhabitants,  the  aged  emigrants  took  up  their  resi 
dence  in  Kinderhook,  a  flourishing  town  North  of 
Albany.  Here  they  easily  became  dupes  to  the  im 
positions  so  generally  practised  upon  strangers. 
They  lost  their  property  by  little  and  little.  Mr. 
Eddy  had  a  son  with  him,  excessively  dissipated ; 
he  married  and  brought  his  wife  to  reside  with  them. 
But  things  went  so  bad,  they  concluded  upon  remov 
ing  back  to  their  old  town,  and  for  this  purpose, 
Mr.  Eddy  sold  the  farm.  Before  he  could  remove 
he  was  attacked  with  a  lingering  complaint  which  in 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  95 

a  few  months  put  a  period  to  his  existence.  His 
sickness  was  very  severe,  and  his  wife  endured  in 
credible  fatigue ;  but  ere  she  had  time  to  rest,  the 
wife  of  young  Eddy,  was  taken  ill  and  died  with  her 
infant.  Young  Eddy  himself  followed  her  in  a  few 
weeks.  His  illness,  which  was  a  sudden  cold  taken 
in  the  water,  was  but  of  short  duration;  but  attend 
ed  with  such  horrors  of  conscience,  as  were  dread 
ful  to  witness.  Rosa,  who  constantly  and  affection 
ately  attended  him,  though  he  had  been  her  greatest 
trial,  now  closed  his  eyes,  and  alone  prepared  to  re 
turn  to  Rhode-Island.  TJieir  property  was  dread 
fully  encumbered,  and  she  left  the  settlement  of  it  in 
the  hands  of  an  agent,  with  orders  to  pay  every  debt 
and  remit  the  remainder  to  her;  but  never  could 
get  any  account  of  him,  except  word  that  there  "  was 
nothing  left."  She  came  to  Rhode-Island,  and 
spent  the  last  years  of  her  life  in  the  family  cff  a 
sister  of  her  first  husband,  the  widow  of  Laban 
Waterman,  Johnston,  who  kindly  received  her  un 
der  her  roof  in  her  old  age. 

It  was  edifying  to  see  the  unmurmuring  disposition 
with  which  she  bore  this  last  sad  reverse  of  fortune, 
and  the  gratitude  she  evinced  for  every  little  atten 
tion.  She  whose  hospitable  doors  were  ever  open, 
not  only  to  her  friends,  but  to  all  the  afflicted,  and 
whose  whole  life  was  spent  in  zealous  and  courag 
eous  efforts  to  serve  her  fellow  creatures. 

But  Rosa  thought  she  had  no  right  to  murmur, 
since  enjoying  life  and  liberty.  "  Here  am  I,"  she 
would  often  say,  wfaen  looking  back  upon  her  adven 
turous  life,  and  retracing  the  scenes  delineated  here. 
"  Here  am  I,  while  so  many  of  my  former  friends 
sure  in  the  world  of  spirits.  ^Capt.  Read,  and  his 


96  TALES NATIONAL 

once  flourishing  family  sleep  in  the  dust,  the  useful 
and  the  good  are  taken  ;  I  alone  spared."  Still  she 
would  hope  it  might  be  for  some  good,  and  would  of 
ten  say  "  she  must  be  continued  here  for  some  par 
ticular  purpose,  which  in  the  order  of  God's  provi 
dence  she  had  got  to  perform." 

Had  Rosa  been  a  woman  of  education,  she  would 
doubtless  have  made  a  shining  character ;  but  born 
and  educated  as  she  was  in  poverty,  and  with  but 
little  opportunity  for  instruction,  which  in  those 
days  was  dispensed  to  females  particularly,  in  a  very 
limited  manner,  the  natural  energies  of  her  genius 
were  cramped,  and  the  exuberance  of  imagination 
checked.  How  much  happier  she  might  have  been 
made  by  mental  improvement,  is  a  question ;  if  she 
was  destined  to  move  in  just  the  sphere  she  did 
move  in,  it  certainly  would  not  have  added  to  her 
happiness.  In  the  ordinary  aifairs  of  life,  she  was 
certainly  a  woman  of  most  excellent  judgment, 
and  her  memory  unencumbered  by  the  sallies  of  imag 
ination,  was  perfect — witness  the  minute  relation  of 
this  narrative,  in  her  76th  year.  It  is  also  worthy  of 
remark  too,  that  through  all  the  singular  adventures 
that  she  was  called  to  participate  in,  her  character 
escaped  unceiisured  ;  the  envious  breath  of  scandal 
never  breathed  on  her  reputation ;  in  the  eamp  or 
the  cottage,  Rosa  appeared  equally  safe.  Possibly 
her  want  of  personal  charms,  being  quite  plain  in  ap 
pearance,  served  in  a  great  measure  for  protection. 

She  survived  the  widow  of  Capt.  Read,  and  his 
last  daughter  for  many  years ;  she  was  not  a  profes 
sor  of  religion,  but  the  writer  of  this  can  witness 
that  she  was  a  believer  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and 
relied  upon  his  sacrifice  for  salvation. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  97 

Rosanna  Eddy  departed  this  life  in  September, 
1827,  at  the  house  of  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Lab  an 
Waterman,  in  Johnston,  where  she  had  resided  for  the 
last  years  of  her  life.  She  died  after  a  fortnight's 
illness,  at  the  age  of  79. 


In  writing  this  Story,  I  have  availed  myself  of  the 
narrative  of  Rosa,  and  other  information  collected 
in  Providence.  Various  hindrances  have  prevented 
my  visiting  Newport,  to  obtain  information  there, 
and  it  is  a  circumstance  of  great  regret,  as  doubtless 
much  additional  information  of  Capt.  Read's  public 
life  might  have  been  collected. 


TALES — NATIONAL 


CERTIFICATES. 

I  certify  that  I  knew  Capt.  Oliver  Read,  of  Newport, 
and  that  he  commanded  several  privateers  during  the 
Revolutionary  war,  fought  several  severe  actions,  and 
that  he  was  generally  victorious,  even  when  he  had 
to  encounter  a  superior  force.  I  recollect  hearing  at  the 
time  his  re-capturing  the  brig  Spy,  a  letter  of  marque 
previously  commanded  by  Capt.  Samuel  Godfrey,  of 
Providence.  I  also  recollect  his  commamiing  the  priva 
teer  Modesty,  fitted  from  Providence,  in  which  vessel  he 
was  very  successful. 

According  to  the  best  ofmy  recollection,  Capt.  Read  was 
a  man  of  a  fine  commanding  appearance,  about  5  feet 
9  or  10  inches  in  height.  He  was  considered  as  brave 
and  intrepid  a  Commander,  as  any  out  of  the  United 
States.  CHARLES  SHELDON. 

Providence,  July  27,  1830. 


I  certify,  that  I  have  often  heard  from  the  mouth  of 
my  brother-in-law,  Capt.  Isaiah  Cahoone,  the  story  of 
the  capture  of  the  Rochambeau,  as  related  in  the  forgo 
ing  narrative.  The  vessel  was,  according  to  his  state 
ment,  commanded  by  Capt.  Oliver  Read,  of  Newport, 
sailed  last  from  the  port  of  New-London,  and  was  cajr= 
tured  by  stratagem  at  Egg  Harbor.  Capt.  Cahoone 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  99 

was  an  officer  on  board,  and  shortly  after  escaped  from 
the  Jersey  Prison  Ship,  whither  they  had  been  conveyed. 
I  never  heard  him  mention  but  four  others  engaged  in 
the  enterprise,  and  conclude  there  were  but  five  of  them 
that  escaped,  namely,  Capt.  Oliver  Read,  of  Newport; 

Capt.  Cahoone,  Capt.  John  Tower,  Capt. Cuoke, 

and  a  Capt.  Hopkins,  all  of  Providence.  Capt.  Cahoone, 
(now  deceased)  has  often  related  in  my  hearing,  his  pro 
vidential  escape  afterwards  from  Long  Island,  in  the 
depth  of  winter;  his  sufferings  were  very  great,  for  a  few 
days,  and  his  adventures  singular.  He  finally  conveyed 
himself  away  in  a  small  beat,  which  he  discovered  near 
the  shore,  and  got  safely  into  Saybrook  (Con.,) 

JOSEPH  RAWSON. 
Providence,  July,  1830. 


Certificate  of  JOHN  HUUBARD,  formerly  of  Newport,  the 
venerable  father-in-law  of  Messrs.  Townsend  &  Grant, 
of  this  town. 

I  certify  that  I  knew  the  family  of  Capt.  Oliver  Read, 
of  Newport,  was  well  acquainted  with  his  father,  Oliver 
Read,  and  recollect  the  circumstance  of  his  sudden  death. 
I  knew  Capt.  Oliver  Read  as  a  brave  and  resolute  man, 
and  actively  engaged  during  the  Revolutionary  War.  I 
also  was  knowing  to  his  being  Commander  of  the"  Ro- 
chambeau,"  which  was  eminently  successful  in  capturing 


TALES — NATIONAL 

the  enemy's  property,  and  to  the  eircumstanee  of  Lsr 
being  taken,  and  retaken  again  by  Capt.  Read,  at  which 
time  there  was  a  most  desperate  battle  fought.  I  had  & 
kinsman,  who  lost  his  life  in  the  service  of  Capt.  Read  at 
the  time,  by  name  Benjamin  Cornell.  Such  was  the  state 
of  exasperation  with  which  they  fought,  that  my  unhap 
py  kinsman  in  the  heat  of  the  battle  bared  his  breast  and 
dared  the  enemy.  They  took  sure  aim,  and  an  unerring 
shot  immediately  dispatched  him. 

I  knew  Rosanna  Hicks  well,  and  first  knew  her  as  a 
resident  in  the  family  of  Oliver  Read,  sen.  and  from  her 
Jong  residence  and  connection  with  the  family  (Mrs. 
Read  being  her  aunt)  should  think  her  competent  to  give 
any  information  respecting  their  history.  Capt.  Oliver 
Read  married  Mary  Sherman,  a  remarkably  fine  looking 
woman,  by  whom  he  had  a  family  of  children,  and  during 
the  war,  they  removed  to  Providence,  until  after  the 
evacuation  of  Newport  by  the  British  troops,  when  they 
returned  and  resided  in  Broad-street.  I  recollec't  that 
just  before  the  close  of  the  war,  Capt.  Read  brought  into 
the  port  of  Newport  a  large  and  valuable  brig,  with  her 
cargo;  but  before  she  could  be  condemned,  peace  was 
declared,  and  she  got  off. 

JOHN  HUBBARD. 
Providence,  June,  1830. 


TALE  SECOND. 


THE   BLIND    SISTERS. 

CHAPTER  I. 


THE  family  whose  hereditary  misfortunes  furnish 
es  the  foundation  of  the  following  story,  were  some 
years  previous  to  the  commencement  of  the  Revo 
lutionary  war,  inhabitants  of  the  State  of  Pennsyl 
vania  whither  they  had  formerly  emigrated  from 
New-York.  A  part  of  them,  to  whom  the  singular 
misfortune  of  hereditary  blindness  seemed  bequeath 
ed  in  an  especial  manner,  had  lived  on  Long-Island, 
and  there  is  an  elaborate  account  of  their  case  drawn 
up  by  the  physicians  of  the  city  of  New -York,  now 
extant.  But  the  name  of  the  medical  work  which 
contains  it,  I  have  forgotten.  I  recollect,  however, 
that  none  of  the  family  were  born  blind,  thougli 
many  of  them  lost  their  sight  upon  attaining  the  age 
of  manhood,  and  that  it  was  spoken  of  as  a  case  un 
paralleled,  and  entirely  beyond  the  reach  of  medicine. 
Rosanna,  the  narrator  of  this  story,  remarked  that 
the  ignorance  of  the  physicians  respecting  the  nat 
ure  of  the  disease,  was  owing  to  the  compara- 


102 

tive  darkness  of  that  age ;  as  similar  cases  had  since 
been  cured,  and  even  among  the  descendants  of  this 
very  family.     She  related  this   story  to  the  writer 
many  years  before  she  gave  the  narrative  contained 
in  the  first  part  of  this  book,  and  as  there  were  no 
notes  of  the  story  preserved,  the  writer  is  indebted 
to  memory  alone  for  the  particulars,  many  interest 
ing  ones  of  which,  from  the  lapse  of  years,  she  has 
forgotten,   and   what  is  of  more  consequence,  the 
family  names  of  the  parties  have  entirely  escaped 
her  recollection.    There  would  be  no  possible  mo 
tive  for  concealing  them  at  this  remote  period,  and 
it  is  a  subject  of  great  regret,  not  only  because  the 
individuals  could  thus  be  identified,  but  because  the 
real  names  give  an  interest  to  a  story  that  nothing 
can  make  up   for  the  want  of.     Their    Christian 
names,  however,  from  being  so  often  repeated  in  the 
story,  I  believe  I  recollect. 

David ,  a  farmer  of  Pennsylvania,  removed 

a  few  years  before  the  war  to  the  neighborhood  of 
New-York,  whither  his  ancestors  had  emigrated 
from.  He  had  been  the  father  of  six  children,  three 
of  whom  he  had  buried  a  few  years  before;  they 
died  near  each  other,  and  had  fallen  victims  to  an 
epidemic  raging  in  the  neighborhood.  Their  deaths 
however  did  not  occur  before  the  family  misfortune 
had  overtaken  them;  they  were  blind,  and  a  fourth 
son  of  David  was  threatened  with  the  same  com 
plaint  before  their  removal.  Report  had  spoken  fa 
vorably  of  the  skill  of  the  physicians  in  the  city  of 
New- York,  and  this  formed  the  only  motive  for  the 
removal  of  the  family.  They  thought  it  possible 
•omething  might  be  devieed  to  prevent  or  retard  the 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  103 

complaint  in  their  remaining  son,  and  possibly  to 
preserve  their  two  young  and  beautiful  girls  from  so 
dreadful  a  calamity.  Among  his  father's  family, 
David  and  six  others  escaped  out  of  a  family  of  ten 
children ;  there  was  therefore  a  possibility  that  his 
girls  might  be  spared.  His  son  gave  but  too  many 
symptoms  of  the  approaching  disease  before  they 
settled  at  New -York.  David  took  a  journey  to  New- 
England  to  visit  some  of  his  relations  in  that  quar 
ter.  The  mother  of  Rosanna  was  a  distant  relation, 
and  it  was  there  at  Rhode-Island  that  she  saw  for 
the  first  time  the  two  girls,  whose  romantic  advent 
ures,  form  the  subject  of  this  tale. 

Marianne  the  eldest  of  these  girls  was  remarkably 
fair,  and  gave  promise  of  great  beauty.  Alice  the 
youngest  was  rather  darker  complexioned,  with  dark 
hair  and  eyes,  but  possessing  a  look  of  intelligence 
rarely  equalled.  Both  as  they  grew  up  had  fine 
persons,  and  at  the  time  of  their  settlement  near 
New -York,  were  two  very  interesting  little  girls. 

David  knew  no  business  but  farming,  ^but  as  he 
wished  to  reside  near  the  city,  he  was  fortunate  in 
obtaining  a  place  at  some  little  distance  from  it.  He 
had  the  care  of  a  gentleman's  farm  on  the  Island  of 
New-York,  not  far  from  the  famous  strait  of 
Hell-Gate,  from  whence  he  was  in  the  habit  of  trans 
porting  the  product  of  his  grounds  to  New -York  in 
a  boat.  Before  the  family  arrived  at  this  little  para 
dise,  the  remaining  son  entirely  lost  his  sight.  Da 
vid  passed  several  years  here  in  the  patient  pursuits 
of  agriculture.  After  taking  his  blind  son  up  to  the 
city  with  him,  and  submitting  him  to  every  remedy 
which  appeared  to  give  the  faintest  prospect  of  re 
moving  hii  malady,  but  in  vain;  the  physicians  could 


104  TALE* — NATIONAL 

not  discover  the  cause  of  it,  nor  devise  a  remedy; 
though  they  gave  David  great  hopes  that  his  daugh 
ters  might  escape,  telling  him  it  was  probable  the 
complaint  would  not  visit  the  female  part  of  the  fam 
ily;  and  further,  that  if  they  discovered  any  symp 
toms  of  it,  it  was  highly  probable  they  might  arrest 
the  disease  before  it  eventuated  in  entire  loss  of 
sight. 


AND    REVOLVTIO^ARY  105 


CHAPTER  II. 

DAVID  and  his  wife  were  truly  pious  people,  and 
they  tried  to  be  submissive  to  the  will  of  their  heav 
enly  Father,  though  their  eyes  would  often  fill  with 
tears  as  they  listened  to  the  lively  and  artless  prat 
tle  of  their  interesting  little  daughters.  Dorothea 
the  mother  would  sometimes  talk  to  them  of 
the  family  misfortune,  and  try  to  prepare  their 
minds  for  the  affliction  to  themselves,  should  it 
please  the  Almighty  to  visit  them  with  it.  Some 
times  the  beautiful  sisters  would  appear  thoughtful 
and  cast  down,  but  again  the  natural  gaiety  of  their 
tempers  would  get  the  better  of  their  fears.  Mean 
while  the  reputation  of  their  exceeding  beauty  spread 
itself  far  and  wide;  though  they  had  but  just  ap 
proached  the  age  of  womanhood,  the  rustic  beaux 
in  the  neighborhood  were  all  looking  out  with  anx 
iety  to  see  who  they  would  give  a  preference  to,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  it  became  decided,  that  the 
lovely  Marianne  had  bestowed  her  heart  upon  the 
son  of  a  gentleman  farmer  in  the  neighborhood. — 
The  father  of  this  young  man  was  at  first  opposed  to 
the  match,  from  motives  of  family  pride;  but  at 
length  he  was  induced  to  give  his  consent  from  ne 
cessity,  as  his  son  avowed  a  determination  to  go  to 
sea,  in  case  of  his  father's  refusal;  and  the  old  gen 
tleman  could  not  endure  to  lose  this  only  remaining 
prop  of  his  declining  age,  for  he  was  the  last  sur 
viving  offspring  of  a  marriage  contracted  late  in 
life,  and  the  only  heir  of  a  handsome  property, 
both  bv  father'i  and  mother'i  lide. 


106  TALES — NATIONAL 

David  pondered  long  upon  the  propriety  of  ap 
prising  the  young  man  of  the  misfortune  which 
threatened,  as  he  believed,  his  whole  race;  but  at 
length,  influenced  by  the  entreaties  of  his  wife,  he 
consented  to  say  nothing  about  it.  A  dreadful  con 
sciousness  of  duplicity  would  sometimes,  however, 
visit  him,  particularly  when  he  reflected  upon  the 
probability  of  the  marriage  being  procrastinated 
several  years,  on  account  of  the  youth  of  the  parties. 
About  one  year  from  this  time,  Alice,  the  youngest 
daughter,  who  was  scarce  fifteen,  was  addressed  by 
a  young  farmer  in  the  neighborhood,  of  good  pros 
pects  and  respectable  character;  and  to  him  the  in 
teresting  Alice,  all  life  and  intelligence,  surrendered 
her  youthful  affections.  Often  on  a  summer's  after 
noon,  the  venerable  parents  would  seat  themselves 
in  the  little  alcove  at  the  foot  of  their  garden,  while 
the  light-hearted  girls  were  sailing  round  the  little 
promontories  and  among  the  delightful  islands  in  the 
neighborhood.  And  sometimes  too  the  young  men, 
Edwin  and  James,  would  shoot  their  little  skiff 
through  all  the  perilous  passes  of  Hell  Gate ,  just  to 
shew  their  skill  to  the  old  couple,  and  exhibit  the 
pretty  fears  of  Marianne  and  Alice,  who  always  pro 
tested  against  their  feats  of  dexterity,  but  in  vain. 

It  was  on  one  of  those  delightful  afternoons  in  the 
month  of  June,  so  peculiar  to  this  latitude,  that  the 
youthful  couple  prepared  to  take  a  sail.  Edwin  had 
just  discovered  a  landing  in  a  retired  and  beautiful 
creek,  where  a  grove  of  lofty  trees,  and  a  charm 
ing  rivulet  which  murmured  through  it,  bordered  by 
flowers,  seemed  to  give  one  an  idea  of  paradise,  and 
Paradise  they  called  it.  After  going  in  the  morning 
and  spreading  a  repast  in  the  grove,  where  they  left 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  107 

two  sisters,  and  a  young  lad — they  prepared  to  sur 
prise  the  girls,  and  their  parents,  whom  they  insisted 
should  accompany  them  together  with  their  son,  who 
though  blind,    always    appeared   gratified  by   new 
;  scenes,  which  he  would  cause  his  sisters  to  describe 
|  to  him.  They  sat  out  in  high  spirits,  and  were  delight- 
!  ed  upon  their  arrival,  to  find  some  of  their  young  com- 
i  panions,  and  a  table  spread  with  all  the  delicacies  of 
|  the  season.     Another  boat  load  soon  appeared  in 
I  sight,  with  the  parents  of  Edwin,  and  James  and  two 
|  or  three  of  their  married  friends.     The  feast  was 
1  prolonged,  and  the  laugh  and  joke,  and  song,  went 
round,  until  the  approach  of  twilight  warned  them  of 
i  the  necessity  of  returning. 

During  their   sail  home,  Edwin  called  upon  the 

I  company  to  admire  some  fishes  that  were  sporting  by 

the  side  of  the  boat,  far  beneath   the  surface  of  the 

water.     Their  extreme  beauty  and  playful  gambols, 

I  were  much  admired  by  the  party  generally — but  Ma- 

rianne    declared  she  could  not  see  them,  and  a  few 

moments  after,  complained  of  a  pain  in  her  eyes. — 

Dorothea  felt  that  dreadful  sinking  of  hearty, which 

a  certain  foreboding  of  evil  to  a  beloved  object  never 

fails  to  give  ;  and  David  was  observed  to  smite  his 

I  breast  and  raise  his  eyes  to  Heaven.     Edwin,  en- 

!  tirely  unconscious,  begged  Marianne  to  lean  her  head 

!  against  him,  while  he  gently  placed  his  hand  on  her 

eyes,  and  in  this  manner  they  reached  home.     How- 

1  ever,  upon  entering  the  house,  she  said  it  was  gone, 

j  and  the  circumstance   appeared  forgotten.     It  was 

|  not  forgotten,    however,   by    David  and   his  wife; 

I  and  early  the   next  morning  he  sat  out  for  New- 

|  York,   without  saying   any    thing    to    the    rest    of 

the    family.     The    mother    of   Marianne    was   in 


108  TALKS — NATIONAL 

great  perplexity  how  to  break  the  matter  to  her 
daughter,  who  appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  doom 
that  seemed  to  hang  over  them.     By  degrees,  how 
ever,  she  made  known  her  fears,  and  by  the  time  the 
father  returned,  accompanied  by  a  physician,  she  had 
become  quite  calm  for  she  was  excessively  agitated 
at  first.     The  physician  examined  her  eyes,  there 
was  nothing  visible,  except  the  traces  of  tears;  felt 
ner  pulse;  it  was  perfectly  regular,  and  bespoke  a 
confirmed  state  of  good  health.     There  was  noth 
ing  to  cause   the  slightest  apprehension  except  the 
pain  complained  of,  the  evening 'before,  and  he  tried 
to  persuade  them  that  it  was  occasioned  by  looking 
at  the  water  so  much  during  the  day,  whiqh  when 
illuminated  by  the  rays  of  a  summer  sun,  is  known 
to  be  exceedingly  hurtful,  and  endeavored  to  per 
suade  Marianne  and  her  sisler,  to  give  up  their  aqua 
tic  excursions,  unless  in  the  evening.     He  was  pre 
paring  to  depart  after  completely  quieting  the  fears  of 
the  family,  when  his  lovely  patient  was  visited  by  a 
return  of  the  same   dull,  heavy  pain,  accompanied 
by   dimness  of  sight.     The  alarmed  parents  desired 
him  to  remain,  and  if  possible  endeavor  to  ascertain 
the  cause.     He  did,  but  could  discover  nothing. — 
The  pain  continued  for  a  season  and  then  left  her, 
apparently  well  as  before.     Convinced  from  the  ac 
count  of  the  other  members  of  this  unfortunate  fam 
ily,  that  the  same  calamity  was  about  to  overtake 
this  lovely  young  woman,  the   benevolent  physic 
ian  now  felt  the  utmost  concern.     He  took  some 
blood  from  her  arm,  which  appeared  to  afford  relief; 
and  recommending  a  course  01  diet  which  he  thought 
might  be  of  service,   and  taking  particular  care  to 
keep  the  room  partially  darkened,  departed.     Hi§ 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  109 

directions  were  carefully  attended  to,  and  for  many 
months  Marianne  never  went  out  until  after  sunset, 
\vhen  she  would  walk  in  the  garden,  and  sit  in  the 
little  alcove. 

One  of  the  greatest  amusements  of  poor  Marianne, 
was  to  have  Alice  read  to  her,  and  the  Bible  was  now 
her  favorite  book.  At  the  commencement  of  her 
disease,  she  used  fervently  to  pray  that  she  might  re 
tain  her  sight ;  but  at  length  she  was  enabled  to  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done."  A  sweet  serenity  of  soul 
was  visible  in  her  deportment,  and  her  beauty  seem 
ed  "to  have  acquired  something  almost  celestial." 
The  peace  of  God  reigned  in  her  heart ;  and  the  calm 
of  her  manner  prevented  those  bursts  oi  grief  in  her 
presence,  which  every  member  of  the  family  could 
not  but  sometimes  give  way  to.  She  would  often 
talk  to  Alice,  and  beg  her  to  make  herself  acquaint 
ed  with  the  word  of  God,  while  she  had  the  blessing 
of  sight,  hinting  her  fears,  "  that  she  also,  might  be 
called  to  part  with  it."  Poor  Alice  was  over 
whelmed  with  grief:  hours  and  hours  she  would 
hang  on  her  sister's  neck,  kissing  her  and  begging 
heaven  to  spare  her  sight.  During  this  time,  Edwin 
was  all  attention.  He  had  now,  for  the  first  time, 
been  made  acquainted  with  the  extent  of  the  family 
misfortune,  and  the  danger  there  was,  that  his  heart's 
idol  was  about  to  become  a  participator  of  it.  — 
Marianne  tried  to  console  him  to  meet  such  a  calam 
ity,  with  becoming  fortitude.  For  her  sake,  he  tried 
to  suppress  his  feelings  before  her ;  but  it  was  evi 
dent  that  he  underwent  a  most  violent  struggle. 

At  length  the  time  came  when  the  light  of  day 
was  forever  shut  out  from  the  eyes  of  Marianne; 
every  thing  had  been  tried  by  a  variety  of  Physi- 


110  TALES NATIONAL 

cians,  but  in  vain — the  word  had  gone  forth,  and  she 
was  never  more  to  behold  the  day.  Total  darkness 
came  upon  her  suddenly,  although  her  sight  had  been 
gradually  growing  dim.  She  was  sitting  with  Alice 
in  the  little  alcove.  She  could  still  discern  some 
features  of  the  landscape,  and  said  to  her  sister,  "  If 
I  should  be  entirely  blind,  I  should  never  forget  this 
beautiful  place."  Suddenly,  she  caught  her  sister's 
arm,  saying,  "  I  am  blind.  O  Alice,  it  is  total  dark 
ness — my  sister!  my  sister !  Merciful  God!  Shall  I 
never  see  again!"  The  shrieks  of  Alice  soon  brought 
David  and  his  wife  to  the  spot.  Edwin,  too,  who 
happened  to  come  in  just  at  the  moment,  was  a  par 
ticipator  of  the  scene,  and  it  was  one  ol  indescriba 
ble  wretchedness.  The  mother  hung  over  her  be 
reaved  child,  uttering  the  loudest  cries  and  lamenta 
tions.  Alice  wrung  her  hands,  calling  to  Heaven  to 
have  mercy;  while  Edwin  clasped  her  in  his  arms, 
bathing  her  beautiful  face  with  his  tears,  and  kissing 
those  now  rayless  eyes.  David,  pious  but  heart 
broken  David,  gazed  upon  the  scene  with  unutterable 
woe,  for  some  time.  At  length  he  articulated,  "  The 
Lord  hath  given,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away" — 
and  Marianne,  finishing  the  sentence,  added,  "Bles 
sed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  And  from  that  mo 
ment  she  seemed  to  recover  her  composure. 

Nothing  could  have  exhibited  the  power  of  divine 
grace  over  the  human  mind,  more  than  the  sacrifice 
which  Marianne  was  preparing  to  make.  She  re 
flected  upon  the  utter  helplessness  of  her  situation, 
and  her  inability  to  discharge  the  duties  of  a  wife, 
especially  to  a  man  who  had  a  great  ambition  that  his 
should  make  a  figure  in  the  world ;  and  she  thought 
it  her  duty  to  persuade,  and  did  persuade  Edwin,  to 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  Ill 

give  up  all  thoughts  of  marrying  her.  At  first  the 
voung  man  resented  all  attempts  to  persuade  him. 
— He  would  not  hear  his  father  on  the  subject 
at  all.  But  their  united  remonstrances  began  to 
have  some  effect  on  his  mind  at  last ;  and  the  dread 
ful  apprehension  of  entailing  such  a  calamity 
upon  his  whole  posterity,  at  length  determined  him. 
But  at  the  same  time,  he  inwardly  determined  never 
to  marry,  and  to  devote  himself  to  Marianne  as  an 
affectionate  brother;  he  consequently  continued  to 
visit  her,  and  to  fan  the  flame  that  he  felt  was  con 
suming  him. 

The  parents  of  young  James,  the  lover  of  Alice, 
in  the  mean  time  began  to  take  the  alarm,  and  to  try 
by  every  art  they  could  devise,  to  draw  their  son 
from  the  object  of  his  attachment,  but  in  vain.  The 
two  young  men  were  not  sorry  when  the  commence 
ment  of  hostilities  between  this  country  and  Great 
Britain,  gave  them  an  opportunity  to  resist  for  a  time 
the  importunities  of  their  respective  families.  They 
were  therefore  among:  the  first  who  took  up  arms  in 
that  quarter,  and  enrolling  themselves  in  a  regiment, 
then  raising  in  Connecticut,  they  departed  to  face 
the  foes  of  their  country,  and  prepared  to  shed  their 
blood  if  necessary  in  defence  of  its  liberties,  and  in 
procuring  its  independence.  We  shall  pass  over  the 
parting  between  Alice  and  her  lover,  and  Mari 
anne  and  him  whom  she  now  called  "  brother." 
Nor  shall  we  dwell  upon  the  conduct  of  the 
two  young  soldiers;  they  were  brothers  in  affec 
tion — in  affliction  likewise,  and  they  fought  side  by 
side,  one  of  them  was  twice  wounded,  but  I  have 
forgotten  which.  During  the  first  year  of  the  cam 
paign,  the  father  of  Edwin  died  ;  his  son  did  not  see 


112 


TALES NATIONAL 


him  after  his  entering  the  army,  but  the  old  gentle 
man,  who  was  very  patriotic,  left  him  his  blessing, 
with  his  request  "  never  to  lay  down  his  arms  un 
til  his  country  was  free."  But  to  return  to  the  fam 
ily  of  David,  whose  trials  were  certainly  not  lessened 
by  the  absence  of  the  two  young  soldiers,  and  their 
continual  anxiety  respecting  their  fates.  But  alas, 
troubles  never  come  alone,  and  during  the  first  two 
years  of  the  war,  Alice  began  to  feel  the  dull  heavy 
pain  in  her  eyes  that  formerly  announced  to  Marianne 
the  dreadful  calamity  of  blindness.  She  had  never 
doubted  it  would  finally  be  her  case,  from  the  time 
of  her  sister's  misfortune.  She  was  only  a  year 
younger  than  Marianne;  she  had  then  retained  her 
sight  one  year  longer  than  her  beloved  sister. — 
She  had  not  the  same  resigned  will,  yet  her  natur 
al  strength  'of  mind  was  very  great,  and  she  forbore 
all  vain  regrets,  would  not  suffer  herself  to  use  any 
preventatives,  believing  them  of  no  use,  and  a  fruit 
less  expense,  she  sat  about  preparing  herself  for  the 
time  when  she  should  be  deprived  of  sight,  not  sparing 
her  eyes  in  the  least,  she  devoted  herself  to  making 
and  mending  whatever  was  necessary  for  the  family, 
in  order  to  lighten  her  mother's  task  when  she  could 
no  longer  assist  her  in  sewing.  Whether  it  was  ow 
ing  to  this  or  some  other  cause  her  blindness  came  on 
much  more  rapidly  than  her  sister's,  and  so  admirable 
was  the  fortitude  of  this  amiable  girl,  that  she  for 
bore  to  tell  day  by  day,  how  her  sight  failed  her,  or 
to  complain  of  the  pain  she  endured,  and  when  the 
last  gleam  of  day  faded  from  her  sight,  she  managed 
so  as  not  to  let  the  family  know  she  was  totally  blind, 
for  many  days.  An  elderly  woman  who  had  been 
left  a  \yidow  in  indigent  circumstances,  and  had  found 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  113 

a  shelter  recently  in  David's  house,  was  the  first 
that  discovered  her  situation;  and  her  affection  for 
Alice  was  so  increased  by  this  display  of  fortitude, 
that  she  never  left  her  to  the  end  of  her  life,  and  for 
more  than  twenty  years  after,  was  her  unfailing  at 
tendant,  leaving  the  mother  to  attend  more  particu 
larly  to  Marianne, 

The  first  visit  James  made  to  his  native  town  was 
not  until  after  a  long  absence.  It  was  a  short  and 
stolen  one;  New-York  was  then  in  possession  of  the 
British,  and  the  visit  was  attended  with  some  risk. 
Alice,  his  beloved  Alice,  was  then  totally  blind. 

What  the  trials  of  David  and  his  wife  were,  during 
the  period  of  the  war,  may  be  easily  imagined,  know 
ing  how  perfectly  defenceless  they  were.  The 
house  was  alternately  the  quarters  of  American  and 
British  soldiers.  During  this  period,  the  two  beauti 
ful  and  defenceless  daughters  were  kept  entirely 
secluded,  literally  imprisoned,  for  the  few  days  they 
remained;  and  through  the  whole  time  of  the  near 
neighborhood  of  the  enemy,  they  were  obliged  to 
keep  secluded.  This,  to  be  sure,  in  their  situation, 
was  not  much  of  a  deprivation,  as  their  misfortune 
seemed  of  itself,  to  cut  them  off  in  a  great  measure 
from  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse. 

The  owner  of  the  place  where  David  resided  was 
a  lory,  and  it  was  probably  owing  to  this  circum 
stance,  that  the  family  of  David  remained  so  little 
disturbed,  although  the  peaceable  deportment  of  the 
occupant  himself,  and  his  poor  blind  son,  ought  to 
have  been  respected  any  where.  Sometimes  poor 
David,  more  than  usually  oppressed  by  his  fears, 
would  exclaim,  "  Oh  that  Edwin  and  James  were 
here."  "  Rather  rejoice,  father  (his  daughters 


1  14  TALES — NATIONAL 

would  answer)  that  they  are  not.  Even  ii  they 
could  remain  here  safe,  it  would  heighten  our  dis 
tresses  to  know  they  were  partakers  of  the  same 
privations." 

One  circumstance  in  a  particular  manner  for  some 
time  gave  the  distressed  family  great  additional  un 
easiness,  and  that  was  the  attentions  of  a  certain 
British  officer,  who  happened  on  his  first  call  to 
encounter  Marianne,  and  struck  with  her  beauty,  he 
repeated  his  visit  again  and  again,  inquiring  the  par 
ticulars  of  her  case,  and  lamenting  that  so  beautiful 
a  person  should  labor  under  such  a  privation.  On 
one  of  those  occasions  he  said,  "  As  soon  as  we  have 
conquered  this  country,  I  shall  return  to  England, 
and  then  if  you  will  let  me,  I  will  take  this  girl  over 
and  have  her  cured.  I  doubt  not  our  English  faculty 
can  do  something  for  her."  David  forbore  (pru 
dently)  to  express  the  feelings  this  speech  gave  him, 
and  only  calmly  answered,  "  We  will  talk  of  it  as 
soon  as  the  country  is  conquered." 

But  however  the  proposition  of  the  young  officer 
might  alarm  the  family,  David  could  not  get  over  the 
thought  that  the  English  physicians  might  possibly 
help  his  daughters;  and  contrary  to  the  advice  of  his 
wife  and  the  entreaties  of  the  two  girls,  he  departed 
on  the  morrow  for  the  quarters  of  Gen.  Clinton, 
where  it  was  said  the  first  physician  and  surgeon  of 
the  regiment  then  was. 

As  usual  in  such  cases,  the  physician  applied  to, 
proposed  to  have  the  opinion  of  several  more,  by 
which  means  they  contrived  to  spunge  poor  old  Da 
vid  out  of  a  great  deal  of  his  hard  earnings,  and  as 
the  saying  is,  "play  into  one  another's  pockets." 

Dorothea,  finding  the  thing  irretrievable,  ha  d  ar- 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  1  15 

rayed  her  daughters  in  a  neat  and  simple,  but  yet 
tasteful  manner,  for  the  inspection  of  the  company, 
among  whom  many  very  significant  looks  were  ex 
changed,  indicative  of  astonishment,  at  the  discovery 
of  so  much  beauty.  Those  looks  were  perceptible 
to  the  quick  eye  of  Dorothea,  though  entirely  unob 
served  by  her  husband.  They  spent  a  long  time  in 
examining  the  eyes  of  the  two  girls,  which  exhibited 
nothing  uncommon,  to  give  an  intimation  of  the  nat 
ure  of  the  disease.  Their  pulse  was  regular,  their 
health  perfect,  and  finally,  after  a  good  deal  of  fum 
bling,  and  technical  jargon,  they  departed,  acknow 
ledging  they  could  do  nothing  now,  and  lamenting, 
as  the  faculty  generally  do,  when  the  case  is  beyond 
their  skill,  that  they  had  not  been  sent  for  sooner. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  house,  the  company 
halted,  and  after  some  consultation,  they  all  came 
back,  averring  that  they  had  concluded  the  disease 
was  occasioned  by  a  humor,  and  that  it  might  avail 
to  try  a  certain  bath,  the  preparation  for  which  they 
had  in  the  city,  but  could  not  conveniently  apply  it, 
without  the  two  girls  could  be  placed  there  under 
their  care,  for  a  few  days.  To  this  the  two  girls 
and  their  mother  made  violent  opposition,  though 
David,  in  the  simplicity  oi  his  heart,  was  for  adopt 
ing  the  experiment  at  once.  This  was  but  a  very 
short  time  before  the  evacuation  of  New-York,  and 
the  bustle  that  succeeded  that  joyful  event,  together 
with  the  arrival  of  their  two  young  friends,  complete 
ly  drove  it  out  of  their  heads. 

And  it  was  not  until  after  the  conclusion  of  this 
story,  that  the  circumstance  happened  to  cross  the 
mind  of  David,  who  suddenly  exclaimed,  when  he 
remembered  it;  "  Well,  now  I  don't  believe  but  what 


116  TALES NATIONAL 

it  was  some  stratagem  of  them  doctors  to  bring  our 
gals  to  their  sight,  whether  they  would  or  not,  and 
after  all  we  need  not  have  been  so  frightened." 

Marianne  had  slightly  mentioned  the  circumstance 
to  Edwin,  who,  upon  hearing  the  soliloque  of  David, 
suddenly  sprang  from  his  chair,  exclaiming,  "Yes, 
hang  their  benevolence;  the  mystery,  in  my  opinion, 
is  now  out." 

"  Yes,"  said  James,  and  had  they  trusted  them 
selves  in  our  care,  we  would  have  shown  them  a 
bath  at  the  bottom  of  Hell  Gate." 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  117 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT  the  time  New-York  was  evacuated  by  the 
British,  our  young  soldiers  were  discharged,  their 
term  of  service  having  expired;  and  akhough  the 
father  of  Edwin  had  desired  him  not  to  lay  down  his 
arms  until  his  country  was  free,  yet  as  the  young 
soldier  had  seen  very  hard  service,  and  felt  great  need 
of  rest  to  a  shattered  constitution,  he  very  properly 
disregarded  the  request,  and  resolved  for  a  time  to 
retreat  to  his  paternal  residence. 

He  and  James  arrived  together,  and  taking  a  night's 
repose,  went  over  in  the  morning  to  see  David's 
family.  They  arrived  the  day  after  the  evacuation 
of  the  British,  and  found  Dorothea  as  usual  engaged 
in  her  domestic  avocations,  assisted  by  the  widow 
before  mentioned.  The  girls,  she  said,  were  in  their 
own  room,  at  work.  Edwin  could  not  resist  the 
desire  to  steal  upon  them  unawares.  He  softly  ap 
proached  the  door,  which  was  partly  opened,  and 
saw  his  beloved  Marianne  sitting  with  some  knitting 
work  in  her  hand,  while  Alice  was  standing  behind 
her,  combing  her  beautiful  hair,  which  she  platted 
and  put  up  with  much  taste,  being  guided  by  the 
sense  of  feeling  alone.  She  then  parted  the  curls  on 
the  fair  forehead  of  Marianne,  confining  them  with  a 
small  comb;  then  stooping  down,  she  kissed  her 
affectionately,  saying,  "  I  doubt  not,  my  sweet  sis 
ter,  you  now  look  as  beautiful  as  ever;  if  there  ever 
is  a  time  when  I  feel  ready  to  repine,  it  is  when  I 
long  once  again  to  see  your  sweet  face."  Marianne 


118  TALES — NATIONAL 

returned  her  sister's  caress,  dropping  a  tear  upon  her 
cheek  as  she  strained  her  to  her  bosom;  but  her  heart 
was  too  full  to  speak.  Edwin  could  contain  himself 
no  longer,  but  rushing  forward,  he  folded  the  two 
lovely  unfortunates  together  in  his  arms,  and  ming 
ling  his  tears  with  theirs,  called  them  his  "  two  dear 
sisters,  his  only  remaining  treasures  upon  earth." 
James  now  came  forward,  and  claimed  his  share  of 
recognition. 

What  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  these  two 
young  men,  in  presence  of  those  unfortunate  and 
still  fondly  loved  beings  1  There  was  a  pensive  sad 
ness  seated  upon  the  brow  of  each,  in  place  of  the 
ever  smiling  gaiety  which  once  revelled  there;  and 
the  complexion  of  Marianne,  in  particular,  Edwin 
could  see,  was  much  paler  than  it  used  to  be.  His 
heart  died  within  him,  as  seated  by  her  and  holding 
his  hand  affectionately  between  hers,  she  inquired 
in  'her  usual  sweet  accents,  of  his  health,  and  spoke 
of  his  trials  and  hardships;  and  then  she  would  lift 
up  her  eyes  to  his  face,  as  though  she  could  still  see 
him,  and  he  knew  she  could  not.  Yet  those  beau 
tiful  eyes  had  not  yet  lost  their  expression :  their 
appearance  was  very  little  different  from  what  it  for 
merly  was.  As  to  Alice,  she  was  in  appearance 
altered  for  the  better;  she  had  now  put  on  the  look 
of  womanhood,  and  it  became  her.  Her  finely 
rounded  form  had  acquired  a  degree  of  fulness,  in 
place  of  the  extreme  slightness  it  once  exhibited, 
much  more  to  the  lover's  taste;  and  the  look  of  se- 
dateness,  and  even  sadness,  which  she  wore,  James 
thought  more  fascinating  than  her  former  appear 
ance  of  childish  gaiety.  Nothing  could  surpass  the 
dazzling  complexion  which  she  retained,  and  whoso 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  119 

bloom  was  now  heightened  by  consciousness.  Yet 
beautiful  as  she  was,  she  was  still  inferior  to  Mari 
anne,  in  whose  face  and  form  and  manner  there  was 
a  touching  something,  that  caused  every  chord  to 
vibrate  in  the  beholder.  Their  uncommon  beauty, 
combined  with  utter  helplessness,  had  caused  some 
tormenting  fears  in  the  breast  of  David,  during  those 
lawless  times,  and  upon  the  capture  of  New-York, 
he  had  planned  an  immediate  remove;  but  finding  at 
length  that  he  was  safe  where  he  was,  if  he  did  not 
attempt  crossing  the  sound,  he  concluded  to  remain, 
trusting  that  their  terrific  and  troublesome  neighbors 
would  ere  long  take  their  departure;  for  David  was 
one  of  those,  who,  in  the  worst  of  times,  never  doubt 
ed  the  final  success  oi  the  cause  of  liberty. 

It  was  with  a  pang  which  they  could  ill  suppress, 
that  the  two  lovers  at  length  tore  themselves  away, 
promising  to  call  again  in  a  day  or  two.  "  I  know, 
sister,"  said  Alice,  "  that  we  are  only  treasuring  up 
sorrow  for  them  as  well  as  ourselves,  by  continuing 
this  intimacy.  But  Oh  dear,  sister,  it  was  I  that 
invited  them  to  come  again;  but  I  have  not  your 
fortitude  and  self-denial.  I  cannot  refuse  myself 
the  dear  delight  of  knowing  that  James  is  near  me, 
though  reason  tells  me  I  cannot  now  be  his  wife, 
poor  helpless  being  that  I  aiu" — and  again  the  sis 
ters  mingled  their  tears. 

Edwin  and  James  stopped  a  few  moments  in  the 
garden,  to  linger  in  the  arbor  that  had  so  often  been 
the  scene  of  mutual  vows — when  Dorothea  hastily 
passing  them,  whispered,  "  Don't  go  yet — I  have 
something  to  say,  at  the  same  time  laying  her  hand 
on  her  lips,  to  motion  silence.  The  two  young  men 
were  lost  in  wonder,  particularly  as  they  found  them- 


120  TALES — NATIONAL 

selves  left  alone  for  half  an  hour.  At  length,  after 
seeing  David  depart  to  his  work,  they  perceived 
Dorothea  approaching.  After  looking  carefully 
around,  she  began,  "  I  dare  not  let  my  husband 
know  my  fears,  he  is  already  so  timid;  but  I  feel  as 
though  some  great  calamity  threatened  us.  Last 
evening  I  came  to  call  the  girls  to  supper,  as  usual, 
from  tins  place,  where  they  usually  spend  an  hour  or 
two  towards  night,  and  as  I  happened  to  come  up  to 
the  arbor  by  a  side  path,  I  discovered  a  man  looking 
through  the  foliage,  and  gazing  attentively  at  Mari 
anne,  as  I  thought.  I  made  a  little  noise,  when  he 
drew  back  and  hid  himself  in  the  bushes,  from 
my  viewT  I  hurried  the  girls  in,  and  knowing  that 
the  hours  they  spent  here  was  all  the  comfort  they 
enjoyed,  I  did  not  tell  them  of  the  circumstance. 
My  husband  was  out,  and  as  I  had  no  one  to  search 
but  my  poor  blind  son,  I  never  knew  what  became 
of  him,  or  whether  he  was  friend  or  foe." 

James  made  very  light  of  her  communication;  but 
Edwin  advised  her  not  to  trust  the  girls  in  the  arbor 
again  at  twilight,  telling  her  the  times  were  so  law 
less,  and  the  enemy  so  lately  in  their  neighborhood, 
it  was  not  safe.  For  some  days  the  story  made  him 
uneasy,  but  at  length  the  recollection  of  it  pretty 
much  faded  from  their  minds. 

Edwin  and  James  had  many  consultations  respect 
ing  their  visits  to  the  sisters,  and  at  length  they  both 
agreed  it  was  cruel  to  keep  alive  an  affection  on  both 
sides,  that  could  only  be  productive  of  mutual  un- 
happiness;  for  the  additional  misfortune  of  Alice 
losing  her  sight  at  about  the  same  time  of  life,  had 
impressed  it  upon  their  minds  that  it  was  a  family 
misfortune  and  one  that  would  be  transmitted  to  future 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  121 

generations.  Though  David  himself  had  escaped,  yet 
he  could  not  deny  that  it  had  afflicted  some  of  the  fam 
ily  before,  and  as  every  body  assured  them  it  would 
prove  hereditary,  they  firmly  believed  it.  There 
were  times  when  affection  nearly  conquered  their 
reluctance  to  lead  about  a  blind  wife;  and  had  not 
a  dread  of  something  further  intervened,  it  is  proba 
ble  every  present  disadvantage  would  have  been 
waived.  However,  they  at  length  came  to  the  con 
clusion,  painful  as  it  was,  to  refrain  from  visiting 
them,  except  once  in  a  long  time,  and  that  in  a  for 
mal  manner.  Although  it  is  a  saying  that  the  reso 
lutions  of  people  in  love  do  not  amount  to  much, 
yet  on  this  occasion  the  persons  in  question  perse 
vered  manfully,  until  one  evening  the  two  young 
men  had  strolled  down  to  the  shore,  and  being  invit 
ed  by  the  beauty  of  the  evening,  they  concluded  to 
take  a  little  sail. 

"  Where  shall  we  go!"  asked  Edwin. 

"  Why  suppose  we  row  up  to  David's,  just  for 
once!"  said  James.  "  We  need  not  stay  long,  you 
know." 

The  request  was  too  agreeable  to  Edwin  to  be 
resisted;  they  therefore  keeping  close  along  the  shore, 
began  to  pull  up  towards  David's  farm.  They  pro 
ceeded  however  in  silence,  each  fully  taken  up  with 
his  own  reflections,  when  just  as  they  had  nearly 
completed  their  voyage,  and  were  about  to  round  a 
little  promontory  that  hid  the  farm  from  their  view, 
a  piercing  shriek  reached  them  from  that  direction, 
followed  by  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and  immediately  a 
barge  shot  past  them  like  lightning.  It  was  rowed 
by  a  number  of  oarsmen,  and  in  its  stern  they  dis 
covered  by  her  white  drapery  a  female  figure,  in  the 


122  TALE* NATIONAL 

grasp  of  two  men;  it  was  starlight,  but  Edwin  had 
no  difficulty  in  detecting  the  character  of  the  ravish- 
ers.  Instantly  they  turned  the  boat's  head  and  fol 
lowed  in  her  wake.  It  was  evident  they  were  seen; 
but  as  the  barge  probably  thought  they  were  indiffer 
ent  persons,  and  only  two  men,  they  excited  but 
little  attention.  With  all  their  efforts,  it  was  im 
possible  to  keep  up  with  the  barge,  who  for  all  they 
knew  might  lead  them  to  sudden  destruction.  Nev 
ertheless  they  strained  every  nerve  to  reach  them. 
They  could  hear  voices,  for  some  time,  on  the  shore, 
and  see  lights  moving,  and  at  length  they  descried 
two  or  three  boats  put  off,  in  several  directions.  It 
was  with  feelings  which  can  never  be  described, 
that  they  saw  the  barge  about  to  pass  Hell  Gate,  a 
place  of  which  they  knew  British  seamen  to  be  pro 
foundly  ignorant,  and  of  their  being  British  they  had 
no  doubt.  Yet  she  must  have  passed  it  once  before,  at 
least;  but  it  was  now  night.  Presently  they  saw 
her  stop  for  a  few  moments,  probably  to  hold  a  con 
sultation. 

The  two  adventurous  young  men  now  gained  cour 
age.  They  knew  themselves  to  be  possessed  of  all 
the  information  which  the  most  experienced  Pilot 
could  desire,  respecting  this  terrific  place.  Twice 
they  saw  the  barge  stop  and  recede  a  few  paces. 
By  this  time  the  skiff  had  gained  perceptibly  upon 
them.  Once  they  halted,  apparently  waiting  for  the 
boat  to  Qome  up;  then  urged  by  some  motive  or  oth 
er,  they  proceeded  onward  with  increased  velocity. 
But  ignorant  of  the  crooks  and  turns,  and  unable  on 
account  of  the  darkness  to  see  the  circles  distinctly, 
they  missed  their  track,  and  just  as  Edwin  was 
within  a  few  rods  of  her,  the  head  of  the  barge  had 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  1 

entered  the  circle  of  one  of  the  whirls;  the  two  men 
in  the  stern  left  their  hold  of  the  female,  and  sprang 
to  their  oars;  and  Edwin,  impressed  with  the  idea 
that  it  was  Marianne,  shouted  "  Throw  yourself 
overboard,  and  I  will  save  you." 

The  voice  of  love  now  reached  her  ear — there  was 
not  a  man  probably  who  heard  him  in  the  barge, 
although  he  shouted  to  the  top  of  his  voice.  But 
Marianne  heard  the  well-known  voice,  and  quicker 
than  thought,  she  leaped  overboard,  and  Edwin  had 
only  time  to  utter  one  word  more,  that  was  "  bal- 
lance,"  before  she  was  hauled  into  the  boat.  Then 
availing  himself  of  a  narrow  pass,  close  along,  in  an 
opposite  direction  of  the  barge,  he  bore  away,  and 
was  soon  out  of  danger,  while  the  hoarse  shouts  of 
the  barge's  crew,  who  had  now  got  fairly  into  the 
whirl,  pursued  them  for  some  distance.*  Marianne, 

*It  has  been  said  to  be  improperly  called  Hell-Gate, 
and  many  have  insfsted,  that  its  proper  name  was  Hurl- 
Gate,  (possibly  thinking,  as  a  certain  modern  preacher 
did,  that  the  former  word, "  is  one  that  must  not  be  nam 
ed  to  polite  ears.")  But  for  my  own  part,  I  should  think 
the  former  one  the  most  appropriate  that  could  be  found; 
since  the  witchery  of  the  scene  must  forcibly  remind 
one  of  the  flowery  descent  to  the  kingdom  of  darkness. 
Few  scenes  in  nature  indeed  can  surpass  that  which  dis 
closes  itself  on  every  side  of  this  strait.  Every  thing  to 
make  the  landscape  charm  is  here  exhibited — beautiful 
farms  in  the  highest  state  of  cultivation — gentlemen's 
seats  which  unite  architectural  beauty  with  rural  ele 
gance — verdant  lawns,  blooming  orchards  and  gardens 
— with  all  the  et  cetera  of  pavilions,  arbors,  grottos,  &c. 
with  here  and  there  a  ^grove  of  venerable  trees — and 
most  enchanting  little  islands. 


124  TALES — NATIONAL 

in  the  mean  time,  laying  flat  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  they  did  not  know  whether  she  was  dead  or 
alive.  The  barge,  they  discovered,  finally  succeed- 

The  land  so  near  on  each  side,  for  it  is  not  in  some 
parts  more  than  half  a  mile  broad,  seems  to  give  a  feeling 
of  security  as  you  enter  the  pass,  which  in  itself  exhib 
its  only  a  smooth  sheet  of  water,  where  nothing  is  heard 
in  good  weather  but  the  gentle  rippling  of  the  tide ; 
the  treacherous  whirlpools  only  exhibiting  circles  on 
the  surface,  which  except  that  they  occupy  a  large  circum 
ference  ('being  expanded  in  proportion  to  the  depth  of 
water  above  the  rocks,)  resemble  those  made  by  playing 
duck  and  drake.  "  Can  this  be  a  place  of  terror  ?"  ex 
claims  the  spectator,  who  finds  himself  in  the  strait  for 
the  first  time.  "  No,"  say  the  Captain  and  all  hands, 
"  there  is  no  kind  of  danger  here  whatever."  But  let  him 
watch  the  anxious  eye  of  the  Pilot,  that  surer  index 
than  the  cloud  in  heaven  is  of  the  threatening  storm. 
Observe  his  deportment  and  in  the  restless  and  fidgeting 
anxiety  that  he  betrays  until  the  fatal  spot  is  past  in 
safety,  you  have  an  affirmative.  I  remember  that 
I  thought  it  no  joke  myself  once,  at  being  swung  round 
two  or  three  times  stern  foremost,  in  one  of  those  magic 
circles. 

It  was  a  very  blustering  day  and  we  had  come  down 
the  sound  at  a  great  rate  before  the  wind,  when  from  some 
unskilfulness  in  the  management  of  the  vessel,  or  from 
the  sudden  subsiding  of  a  gust  in  the  very  worst  part  of 
the  strait,  the  sails  became  perfectly  useless,  and  the 
sloop  which  was  heavily  loaded  with  lime,  from  careen, 
ing  far  on  one  side,  now  suddenly  righted,  and  her  mast 
stood  upright.  It  would  have  been  a  curious  scene  for 
a  philosopher,  if  one  could  philosophize  at  such  a  mo 
ment,  to  observe  the  different  countenances  on  board. 
The  Captain,  though  he  made  very  light  of  the  danger 
when  it  was  past,  was  pale  as  marble;  still  he  com 
manded  silence  and  gave  his  orders  with  great  promp- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY. 


125 


ed  -in  getting  out  of  the  whirl,  and  it  was  believed 
safely  weathered  the  strait;  but  whether  it  was  the 
danger  they  had  just  escaped,  or  the  idea  that  the 
affrighted  maiden  had  thrown  herself  into  the  sea, 
and  was  drowned — no  one  knew — but  they  did  not 
attempt  to  turn  back  again.  As  soon  as  they  got 
through  the  pass,  Edwin  raised  poor  Marianne  in  his 
arms,  and  discovered  that  she  was  alive;  terror  only 
had  kept  her  silent.  No  persuasion  could  induce 
her  to  sit  up,  and  she  lay  there  until  they  reached  the 
shore,  accompanied  part  of  the  way  by  poor  old  Da 
vid  and  two  other  boats  from  the  neighborhood,  who 
had  kindly  volunteered  to  go  in  pursuit  of  his  daugh- 

titude  and  presence  of  mind.  At  one  end  of  the  cabin  knelt 
an  invalid  girl  supplicating  for  life,  who  looked  as  though 
she  could  not  live  three  months,  with  the  best  of  care. 
Beside  her  a  Quaker  lady  sat  wringing  her  hands,  while 
in  an  opposite  state  room  lay  a  mother  pressing  her  in 
fant  to  her  bosom  in  convulsive  agony.  The  rest  of  the 
female  passengers  stood  gazing  at  each  other  in  stupid 
amazement,  with  the  exception  of  one  beautiful  and  in 
teresting  young  creature,  whose  agony  and  distress  ex 
ceeded  description;  she  was  the  daughter  of  pious  and 
respectable  parents,  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  and  had 
about  a  year  before  eloped  with  a  gambler  by  profession, 
with  whom  she  had  travelled  and  shared  strange  vicissi 
tudes  of  fortune,  until  sick  of  her  wandering  and  unset 
tled  life,  she  was  returning  to  throw  herself  upon  the 
mercy  of  her  parents.  It  really  seemed  as  though  the 
gambler  felt  some  touch  of  pity  and  remorse,  while  he 
gazed  ugon  the  wreck  he  had  made,  and  for  a  few  mo 
ment8  to  lose  the  savage  in  the  man.  However,  the 
danger  was  soon  over,  for  as  soon  as  the  topsail  was 
hoisted,  a  merciful  squall  struck  us  and  sent  us  through 
the  foaming  waters  with  the  fleetness  cf  the  wind,  liter 
ally.  L* 


126  TALES — NATIONAL 

ter,  armed  with  pistols  and  cutlasses.  The  wretch 
ed  mother  of  Marianne  was  almost  too  happy,  on 
receiving  her  daughter  again  to  her  bosom,  and  Alice 
was  perfectly  frantic  with  joy.  A  good  number  of 
the  young  men  agreed  to  stay  that  night  and  keep 
guard  around  the  house  and  garden,  from  the  latter 
of  which  Marianne  had  been  forcibly  seized.  While 
the  family  were  putting  her  to  bed,  and  using  re 
storatives  to  revive  her  from  the  torpid  state  into 
which  terror  and  extreme  exhaustion  had  brought 
her,  Edwin  drew  James  aside,  into  a  retired  walk  in 
the  garden,  to  communicate  his  feelings. 

"James,"  said  he,  "the  events  of  this  night  have 
determined  me  to  marry  Marianne,  at  all  events." 

"  I  will  marry  her  sister  if  you  do,"  said  James. 
"  My  brother,"  said  Edwin,  "  my  brother  forever; 
give  me  your  hand,  and  let  us  solemnly  swear  never 
to  leave  these  two  defenceless  girls,  but  to  marry 
them  immediately,  and  convey  them  to  a  place  of 
safety."  The  oath  was  reciprocally  given,  and 
when  on  the  morrow,  the  pale  but  still  lovely  Mari 
anne  was  dressed,  and  led  out  by  her  mother  to  thank 
her  deliverer,  Edwin  folded  her  to  his  bosom  and 
claimed  the  promise  given  to  him  five  years  before. 
It  was  in  vain  the  blushing  Marianne  urged  the  self- 
denial,  and  sacrifice  he  would  make — he  persisted 
the  sacrifice  would  be  to  renounce  her.  "  And  where, 
oh  where,  Marianne,"  said  he,  "  could  I  find  love 
like  yours  1  The  woman,  who  at  my  request, 
would  throw  herself  into  the  sea ;  conscience !  The 
next  generation  would  not  believe  such  a  thing  pos 
sible." 

"  Why  you  forget,  dear  Edwin,"  said  she,  "  that 
death  was  before  me  to  remain  where  I  was;  and  an 
unknown,  and  dreadful  doom  if  I  got  safely  past  it." 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  127 

"  Come,  you  shall  not  allay  the  triumph  of  my  van 
ity,"  said  Edwin.  "  I  will  leave  it  to  all  present,  if  the 
woman  who  jumps  into  the  sea  for  a  man,  can  reason 
ably  refuse  to  marry  him!"  Alice  shed  tears  of  joy 
at  the  idea  of  her  sister's  happiness;  and  it  was  not 
until  some  hours  after,  that  she  knew  of  the  mutual 
promise  of  James  and  Edwin.  We  need  not  add 
that  she  was  prevailed  on  to  give  her  hand  to  James, 
on  the  same  day  that  saw  her  sister  united  to  Ed 
win. 

The  whole  family  soon  after  removed  to  one  of 
our  Western  States,  where  Edwin  possessed  a  large 
tract  of  land.  Rosa  further  informed  me  that  she 
had  twice  heard  from  them  in  a  lapse  of  years, 
and  that  the  complaint  of  the  eyes,  which  there  had 
been  so  many  fears,  would  prove  hereditary,  had 
never  ended  in  total  blindness,  with  any  of  their  de 
scendants.  The  probability  is,  that  the  complaint 
was  not  then  understood  by  the  physicians,  and  that 
it  can  now  be  cured  in  the  earliest  stages  of  it.  She 
said  the  sisters  made  excellent  wives,  and  sustained 
a  high  character  for  piety,  and  that  the  brother 
whom  the  reader  will  also  recollect  was  blind,  mar 
ried  somewhere  in  that  country,  but  she  was  igno 
rant  of  the  circumstances  attending  it,  and  presumes 
they  were  not  of  so  romantic  a  character  as  those  at 
tending  the  marriage  of  the  daughters. 


TALE     THIRD. 


THE  KING'S   SHIP. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"Now  hoist  the  sail  and  let  the  streamers  float 
"Upon  the  wanton  breeze.     Strew  the  deck 
"  With  lavender  and  sprinkle  liquid  sweets, 
"  That  no  rude  savor  maritime  invade 
"  The  nose  of  nice  nobility." 

IN  the  year  1776,  when  a  British  squadron,  com 
manded  by Wallace,  and  attached  to  the  fleet 

of  Admiral  Graves,  lay  just  without  the  harbor  of 
Newport,  every  one  at  all  acquainted  with  the  his 
tory  of  Rhode-Island,  during  the  Revolutionary  war, 
may  recollect  the  state  of  excitement,  the  inhabitants 
of  Newport  were  kept  in,  during  that  memorable  pe 
riod.  There  was  a  strict  blockade,  and  the  frequent 
alarms  caused  by  the  vaunting  threats,  and  puerile 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  129 

l 

efforts  of  that  blustering  hero,  whom  Trumbull  hu 
morously  styles  the  "  Pop-gun  Wallace,"  although 
they  did  no  essential  mischief,  certainly  prevented 
people  from  feeling  comfortable. 

It  was  during  one  of  those  sultry  lazy  days,  when 
feelings  of  inertness  and  inactivity  inevitably  beset 
even  the  most  active,  (and  the  spirit  so  intimately 
connected  with  the  body,  suffers  a  corresponding  de 
pression)  that  my  story  commences.  The  wind  what 
little  there  was  of  it,  blew  from  the  land,  i.  e.  north- 


direction,   yawning  and  complaining  of  the  intolera 
ble  heat  of  the  atmosphere. 

Two  gentlemen,  the  one  a  Captain  of  militia,  and 
the  other  a  merchant  of  the  place,  were  lounging 
near  where  the  Redwood  Library  now  stands,  might 
then  for  aught  I  know  on  the  hill  in  order  to  catch 
every  breath  of  air,  from  whatever  quarter  it  might 
come.  It  was  near  the  hour  of  noon,  when  one  of 
them  happening  to  direct  his  gaze  southwardly,  saw 
one  of  the  King's  ships  stationed  near  the  mouth  of 
the  harbor,  swung  off  in  an  easterly  direction.  Af 
ter  watching  her  for  some  time,  he  turned  to  the 
Captain,  "Yon  ship,"  said  he,  "manoeuvres  very 
strangely,"  and  putting  a  spy-glass  in  hiscompanions 
hand,  "  do  you  see"  said  he  "  how  near  the  shore  she 
approaches  1"  Her  motions  had  not  been  unobserv 
ed  from  the  town ;  she  had  been  closely  watched; 
some  thought  there  was  an  attack  upon  Portsmouth 
contemplated.  Some  thought  one  thing,  and  some 
another,  while  watching  her  jibing  and  tacking,  and 
many  strange  and  contradictory  manoauvres.  But  one 


130  TALES NATIONAL 

thing  they  all  agreed  in,  that  she  was  managed  in  the 
most  awkward,  bungling  manner  possible  ;  and  not 
a  few  expressed  the  belief,  that  any  of  their  fisher 
men,  that  could  manage  his  own  little  boat,  would 
have  done  better.  At  length  some  of  the  long  heads 
were  convinced,  mischief  was  intended,  and  that 
the  apparent  awkwardness  of  the  pilot  was  finesse. 
But  to  return  to  our  two  gentlemen,  "  I  think"  said 
the  Captain,  after  coolly  examining  the  ship  through 
the  spy-glass,  "  I  think  it  probable,  I  shall  be  called 
out  before  night  at  the  head  of  my  company." 

"  Before  night,"  re-echoed  his  companion,  "  why 
good  God,  look  there  !"  The  Captain  directed  his 
glance  towards  Tower-Hill,  but  ere  he  descried  the 
beacon — the  alarm  gun,  from  the  opposite  fort,  shook 
the  ground  whereon  they  were  standing ;  throwing 
down  his  glass  without  any  ceremony,  he  then  di 
rected  his  flying  steps  towards  the  alarm  post,  where 
he  knew  his  company  would  probably  be  gathered, 
before  he  could  join  them.  As  to  Mr.  Lawton  the 
merchant,  he  kept  his  station,  resolved  to  be  on  the 
spot,  when  the  Captain,  and  his  company  should  pass 
towards  the  beach,  for  in  that  direction  the  ship  was 
now  moving,  and  to  witness  the  battle,  should  there 
be  one,  if  battle  it  could  be  called,  where  all  the 
blows  would  probably  be  on  one  side. 

Meanwhile,  the  alarm  had  rapidly  spread,  and 
many  a  leather  apron  had  turned  out,  and  shoulder 
ing  some  antiquated  gun,  that  perhaps,  had  neither 
lock  nor  barrel,  repaired  to  the  scene  of  action,  and 
volunteered  to  accompany  the  few  militia,  who 
were  about  to  march  to  the  beach.  One  old  field- 
piece  was  mustered,  and  exultingly  and  ostentatious 
ly  dragged  after  them,  with  colors  flying,  drums 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  131 

beating,  &c.  At  their  head  the  puissant  Captain 
stepped  off  in  style  ;  a  few,  though,  who  had  com 
menced  their  march  with  great  glee  and  resolution, 
when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  ship,  and  began  to 
count  her  teeth,  felt  their  courage  cool  a  little,  and 
preferred  lingering  behind  with  Lawton  and  being 
spectators  oi  the  battle.  Several  crept  into  the  stone 
mill,  and  slyly  looking  through  the  port- holes,  saw 
their  companions  pass  by;  but  to  do  them  justice, 
there  were  but  very  few  cowards  among  them,  and 
it  is  very  possible,  those  who  hid  in  the  mill,  might 
have  be'en  quite  as  courageous,  though  not  as  rash,  as 
those  who  resolved  to  place  themselves  directly  in 
the  fire  of  the  ship,  without  the  smallest  possibility, 
had  such  been  the  event,  of  doing  any  good.  How 
ever,  the  company  kept  on,  and  soon  arrived  at  the 
beach,  in  front  of  which  the  "  King's  ship,"  now  dis 
played  her  broad  pennon,  within  grape  shot  of  the 
heroic  Yankees.  For  a  moment  they  stopped  and 
gazed  in  admiration,  they  had  never 'had  as  near  a 
view  of  so  large  a  ship  before,  and  the  novelty  of  the 
sight  almost  took  from  them,  the  recollection  of  the 
business  they  came  upon.  She  had  come  to  an 
chor,  and  as  she  lay  her  side  towards  the  shore,  her 
long  tier  of  guns  distinctly  visible,  and  her  white  sails 
relaxed  and  gently  undulating  in  the  breeze,  the  sold 
iers  thought  they  had  never  seen  any  thing  half  so 
beautiful,  but  a  kind  of  queer  feeling  seemed  to  come 
over  them,  upon  observing  the  employment  of  the 
crew.  The  boats  were  all  got  out  and  great  prepa 
rations  made  for  fishing.  In  fact  so  completely  ab 
sorbed  were  the  jolly  crew  in  their  employment, 
that  it  was  found  impossible  to  attract  their  obser 
vation,  and  make  them  sensible  of  the  near  neighbor- 


132  TALES — NATIONAL 

hood  of  the  gallant  company,  who  had  turned  out  to 
do  them  honor,  notwithstanding  the  frequent  march 
ing  to  and  fro — the  waving  of  colors — the  flourish 
ing  of  drums,  and  over  and  above  all,  the  playing  of 
Yankee  doodle;  that  tune  of  all  tunes,  the  most  ob 
noxious  to  British  ears,  they  could  not  manage  to 
make  themselves  recognized. 

Now  and  then  an  obstreperous  burst  of  laughter 
would  feach  the  shore, borne  on  the  tops  of  the  waves, 
whose  roar,  as  the  tide  was  now  receding,  and  the 
wind  northwardly  was  less  than  usual.  By  the  help 
of  a  spy-glass,  they  could  discern  that  the  can  was 
pretty  freely  circulating  among  them,  so  freely  that 
they  were  at  length  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
nothing  but  a  fishing  frolic  was  intended,  and  that  no 
attack  could  be  contemplated  with  a  drunken  crew. 
Satisfied  of  this,  they  at  length,  after  some  hours, 
marched  slowly  back  to  the  to  wn,not  heeding  the  gibes 
of  every  wag  on  the  way,  and  particularly  of  Lawton 
and  his  company,  who  demanded  if  they  were 
cc  marching  back  with  the  honors  of  war?"  &c.  &c. 
As  they  were  leaving,  a  few  old  women  ran  out,  and 
begged  they  would  leave  the  field  piece,  "  as  some  of 
those  drunken  fellows  might  molest  them  in  the 
night;"  how  they  expected  to  use  it,  is  not  known. 
But  the  gallant  Captain  appeared  to  sympathize  with 
them,  and  left  the  gun  to  keep  guard. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  beach,  where  the  land 
runs  out  in  a  southeasterly  direction>  there  is  a  most 
beautiful  tract  of  country;  several  excellent  farms  are 
scattered  here  and  there— highly  embellished  by  the 
hand  of  cultivation — although  the  land  is  in  reality  so 
fertile  as  almost  to  afford  spontaneous  growth. — 
About  these,  indeed,  and  about  all  the  farms  in  the 


A\»    RETOI.UTIOXARY  133 

neighborhood,  there  was  an  air  of  comfort  and  even  of 
opulence — singularly  contrasted  by  the  appearanc« 
of  a  lone  rude  cottage,  standing  in  a  bleak,  and  al 
most  isolated  spot,  quite  near  the  rugged  coast,  with 
no  attendant  comfort  except  a  small  patch  of  ground 
rudely  fenced  in,  by  a  few  straggling  rails.  In  short, 
I  have  never  seen  a  spot,  I  should  have  so  little  in 
clination  to  inhabit,  unless  it  was  Johnny  Groat's 
house.  This  cottage  was  the  residence  of  a  pious  wid 
ow,  whose  husband  a  fisherman,  had  been  drowned 
a  few  years  before ;  she  lived  entirely  alone  ;  her  on 
ly  child  a  daughter,  was  married,  and  the  mother  of 
a  young  family,  and  she  and  honest  Joshua,  her  hus 
band,  resided  within  the  town  of  Newport,  where  he 
labored  in  a  rope  walk.  "  Nurse  Elspeth,"  as  she 
was  usually  called,  was  a  singularly  useful  woman  ; 
though  poor,  she  was  greatly  beloved ;  her  faculties 
in  a  sick  room  had  in  a  particular  manner  endeared 
her  to  all  the  afflicted,  and  none  of  her  country 
neighbors  seemed  to  think  it  possible  for  them  to  re 
cover  from  illness,  unless  she  ministered  to  them. 
Her  fame  extended  for  many  a  mile  around,  and  she 
was  never  known  to  resist  the  call  of  humanity,  even 
to  leave  her  bed  during  the  cold,  and  stormy  nights 
of  winter.  In  fact,  she  was  esteemed  a  physician  of 
no  ordinary  talents,  and  as  there  was  none  of  the 
faculty  nearer  than  the  town  of  Newport,  she  was 
accustomed  to  be  called  upon  for  every  service  that 
suffering  humanity  required.  For  these  services, 
Elspeth  never  accepted  any  thing ;  but  the  gratitude 
of  the  people  contrived  to  make  her  remuneration 
by  affording  her  support,  and  a  comfortable  subsist 
ence  too.  The  interior  of  her  cabin  was  not  so  dis- 
pisable  as  one  might  b«  led  to  suppose  from  th« 

M 


134  TALES NATIONAL 

outside.  Her  neighbors  would  have  had  her  remove 
from  the  lonely  and  bleak  spot,  but  this  she  refused, 
as  the  cottage  had  been  built  to  accommodate  her 
late  beloved  husband,  >md  ass  he  had  past  many  hap 
py  years  there — she  continued  to  tenant  it. 

But  kindness  and  humanity  were  not  the  only 
virtues  of  Elspeth;  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  brave 
sea  Captain,  and  in  listening  to  his  adventures,  she 
had  caught  much  of  his  spirit ;  had  she  been  a  man, 
her  brave  and  fearless  bearing,  might  have  won  for 
her  immortal  honor  in  the  field  of  battle,  or  borne 
through  pathless  waves,  her  country's  flag,  and  taught 
the  tyrants  of  the  sea,  to  respect  her  country's  rights. 
As  it  was,  her  courage  was  often  put  to  the  test, 
and  was  never  known  to  fail  her. 

Elspeth  in  person,  was  rather  repulsive,  of  a  strong 
athletic  make,  her  figure  was  taller  than  her  sex  in 
general ;  in  youth,  she  had  by  the  help  of  a  good  set 
of  teeth,  bright  black  eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  raven 
hair,  passed  for  a  tolerable  hands unie  woman;  but 
years  of  exposure,  of  poverty  and  affliction,  had 
quenched  the  light  of  her  eyes,  and  turned  her  hair 
to  grey,  and  her  tall  grenadier  figure  had  now  con 
tracted  a  slight  stoop,  her  skin  was  exceedingly  swar 
thy,  and  her  voice  rough  and  masculine  :  Such  was 
Elspeth,  who  on  this  day  had  been  an  anxious  ob 
server  of  the  ship,  wrhose  near  neighborhood  had 
caused  such  alarm  in  her  vicinity.  She  was  alone  in 
her  little  hut,  and  although  there  was  nothing  there 
to  tempt  avarice,  and  allure  the  plunderer,  yet,  even 
she  could  not  escape  altogether  the  contagion  of  fear,  I 
which  had  spread  itself  through  the  neighborhood. — 
Before  she  retired  to  rest,  she  took  a  small  pair  of 
pistols  which  had  been  her  husband's  and  loading 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  135 

them,  placed  them  near  her  pillow.  She  was  not  un 
acquainted  with  their  use;  and  had  often  fired  one  of  a 
dark  evening,  to  direct  the  homeward  bound  boat  of 
her  husband,  and  though  she  had  never  been  called 
upon  to  use  them  in  sell-defence,  yet  she  did  not  fear 
to,  if  occasion  demanded.  A  tear,  however,  dropped 
upon  them,  as  she  ascended  the  step  ladder,  that  led 
to  her  sleeping  apartment,  she  thought  of  him  who 
had  often  followed  the  report  of  them,  to  his  own 
cheerful  fireside,  and  for  a  few  moments  the  hardy 
and  courageous  Elspeth  was  a  weak  woman;  how 
ever,  she  soon  composed  herself,  and  retired  to  her 
humble  bed,  where  the  sounding  waves  with  their 
never  ceasing  roar,  soon  lulled  her  to  sleep. 


TALE! — IVATIOIflJj 


CHAPTER.  II, 

"Ob  for  a  lodge  in  tome  vast  wildernes*, 

"  Some  boundlesi  contiguity  of  ihade, 

"  Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit, 

"  Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  wan 

•'Might  never  reach  me  more!    My  ear  is  pained, 

•*  My  soul  ii  sick  with  every  day's  repoit 

"  Of  wrong  and  outrage,  with  which  earth  is  filled.'1 

How  long  nurse  Elspeth  had  yielded  to  the 
drowsy  god  she  could  not  tell;  but  she  was  aroused 
by  a  gentle  tap  at  her  door,  and  hastily  rising  she  put 
her  head  out  of  the  little  window  ot  the  loft,  and  in 
quired  the  stranger's  business.  "  I  wish  to  see  you 
immediately,  good  woman,"  said  a  gentleman, 
"pray  admit  me,  I  am  alone,  and  come  to  solicit 
your  assistance."  Elspeth  descended  the  little  lad 
der,  and  unclosed  the  door.  The  gentleman  walk 
ed  in,  and  opening  a  dark  lantern,  discovered  to  the 
astonished  eyes  of  Elspeth,  the  naval  uniform  of  a 
British  officer. 

"  Have  no  fears,"  said  he,  perceiving  she  eyed  him 
with  a  look  of  distrust,  "  I  come  to  carry  you,  if 
possible,  to  the  assistance  of  a  suffering  female  in 
yonder  ship  ;  make  haste,  I  entreat  you,  for  her 
life  is  at  stake.  Your  reward  shall  be  great,  and 
we  will  safely  put  you  on  shore  again;  here  is  an 
earnest,"  said  he  throwing  down  a  well-filled  purse. 
"Make  haste." 

Elspeth  hesitated  no  longer,  but  taking  a  light,  re 
turned  up  the  ladder  to  array  herself  for  the  voyage. 
First  depositing  the  purse  in  a  place  of  safety,  she 
proceeded  to  put  on  her  best  garment,  then  pausing 
a  moment '  if,'  said  she  mentally,  'this  should  be  some 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  137 

trick,  I  will  at  any  rate  be  prepared,  and  sell  my 
life  dearly  ;'  so  saying  she  shoved  a  pistol  into  each 
pockst,  (she  always  carried  a  large  one  on  either 
hip,  and  rejoined  the  officer. 

They  proceeded  in  silence  to  the  place  where  the 
boat  was  moored,  and  two  strong  rowers,  who  had 
waited  in  the  boat,  soon  brought  them  to  the  side  of 
the  ship.  Here  the  officer  blinded  Elspeth,  and 
conveyed  her  on  board:  she  was  led  past  two  or 
three  sentinels,  and  heard  the  watch-word,  which 
was  Darkness,  demanded  and  given,  and  in  spite 
of  her  courage,  a  shudder  passed  over  her  several 
times,  before  she  gained  the  steps,  which  descending 
perpendicularly,  conducted  her  to  the  place  of  her 
destination.  She  halted  for  a  moment,  until  reas 
sured  by  the  voice  of  her  conductor,  who  in  a  whis 
per,  said,  "  No  harm  is  intended  you,  good  woman; 
you  are  in  honorable  hands;"  when  she  ventured  to 
proceed.  Upon  removing  the  handkerchief,  she 
found  herself  in  an  elegant  state-room.  The  offi 
cer  pointed  to  a  birth,  from  which  some  half-stifled 
sobs  proceeded,  and  withdrew.  Elspeth  approach- 
ek,  and  raising  the  damask  curtain,  beheld  a  beauti 
ful  female,  whose  hands  were  clasped  in  agony,  and 
whose  pale  cheek  was  bathed  in  tears.  Bending  over 
her,  the  benevolent  woman  sought  to  comfort  the 
youthful  sufferer.  "  Well,  now,  how  sad  it  is  to  see 
such  a  pretty  creature  in  such  distress;  if  there  is 
any  thing  that  a  poor  woman  like  me  can  do,  speak, 
Lady;  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  serve  you." 
Elspeth  had  spoken  from  the  genuine  feelings  of  her 
heart,  for  the  countenance  of  the  youthful  sufferer 
had  created  an  immediate  interest  in  her  favor. 
"  There  is  but  one  way  in  which  you  can  relieve 


138  TALli — NATIONAL 

me,  good  woman,"  said  the  lady.  "  If  you  would 
solemnly  promise  me  one  thing,  it  would  ease  me 
of  a  heavy  load,"  and  she  grasped  the  hands  of 
the  kind-hearted  nurse  in  hers. 

"  If  it  is  in  my  power,  I  will  grant  your  re 
quest,"  said  Elspeth,  "  even  at  the  risk  of  my 
life." 

"  Excellent  woman!"  said  the  sufferer.  «'  The 
boon  I  ask  of  you  is  to  preserve  my  child,  if  it 
lives,  and  keep  it  with  you  until  I  can  claim  it, 
safe  from  my  tyrant  brother;  it  may  be  years  be 
fore  I  can  reclaim  it ;  but  never,  never  part  with 
it  until  I  or  its  father  appear.  I  consider  myself 
as  his  wife,  though  united  by  a  Catholic  priest; 
that  you  know  will  not  answer  the  laws  of  our 
country,  yet  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  it  can  make 
no  difference." 

Elspeth  promised,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  lady 
gave  birth  to^a  son,  and  the  nurse  prepared  to 
depart.  Before  she  left,  however,  the  lady,  whom 
her  brother  called  Olivia,  told  her  she  had  been 
brought  away  by  stratagem,  by  her  brother,  who 
was  her  guardian;  and  that  there  was  but  one,  a 
favorite  servant  of  his,  who  knew  she  was  on  board. 
She  gave  some  valuable  trinkets  to  Elspeth,  and  a 
small  sum  of  money,  together  with  a  ring,  which  she 
desired  her  to  send  back  to  her  as  a  token,  if  she 
got  the  child  safe  ashore.  The  wretched  mother 
strained  her  infant  to  her  bosom,  at  parting,  and 
bedewed  its  little  face  with  agonizing  tears ;  but 
her  brother  hurried  the  nurse  to  the  boat. 

"  This  good  woman,"  said  Olivia,  is  willing  to 
take  care  of  the  child." 

"Very  well,"   said  he,  gruffly,  and  again  blind- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  139 

ing  Elspeth,  who  carried  the  child  under  her  cloak, 
he  hurried  her  to  the  boat. 

There  was  a  slight  breeze  stirring  and  a  sail 
hoisted.  No  one  got  in  but  a  black  fellow,  who 
it  seemed  did  not  understand  a  word  of  English, 
and  the  officer,  who  motioned  Elspeth  to  be  seat 
ed  near  him;  but  she  stepped  to  the  other  end  of 
the  boat  and  seated  herself  in  silence.  Day  was 
beginning  to  blush  in  the  eastern  horizon,  and  El 
speth  would  have  been  delighted  to  observe  the 
beautiful  appearance  o'er  land  and  sea,  while  fac 
ing  one  of  the  finest  harbors  in  the  world;  but 
subjects  of  momentous  importance  occupied  her 
attention.  The  officer  was  in  a  very  ill  humor. 

"  Curse  the  light,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  be  dis 
covered."  Then  addressing  the  black  in  French, 
he  tried  to  hurry  the  motions  of  the  boat.  After 
they  had  got  about  half  way,  he  said  to  Elspeth, 

"  Now  woman,  mark  me ;  no  noise  and  no  re 
sistance;  I  must  take  your  burden."  He  rose,  but 
quicker  than  thought,  the  stately  form  of  Elspeth, 
with  a  cocked  pistol  in  her  hand  .stood  erect  before  him. 
c  Touch  not  this  child  for  your  life,"  said  she, 
«e  Step  but  oae  step  towards  me,  and  you  are  a 
dead  man.  I  can  shoot  further  than  the  length  ot 
your  sword,"  said  she,  seeing  him  lay  his  hand 
upon  the  weapon.  The  officer  told  her  to  be 
seated,  and  himself  set  the  example. 

"  Fool  that  I  was,"  said  he  "  not  to  bring  any 
thing  but  a  sword.  But  let  me  reason  with  you, 
woman,  this  purse  full  of  gold  shall  be  yours  (hold 
ing  it  up)  if  you  will  only  deliver  the  brat  peaceably, 
— you  are  not  responsible  for  what  I  shall  do  with  it 
— it  i»  a  child  of  sin  and — I — I"  he  stopped. 


140  TALES — NATIONAL 

"Wish  to  destroy  it,"  said  Elspeth,  finishing? the 
sentence;  "  but  you  have  got  to  kill  me  first,  and 
Elspeth  Brown  dies  not  unavenged."  He  tried  to 
bribe,  threaten  and  persuade,  all  without  effect. 
At  length  he  said — 

"  On  one  condition  you  may  keep  it  peaceably,  but 
should  you  ever  violate  that  condition,  the  whole 
race  of  yankees  shall  not  protect  you  from  my  ven 
geance." 

"  Name  it,"  said  Elspeth. 

"  Why  you  must  swear  to  tell  that  the  child  was 
left  at  your  house  by  some  strolling  beggar,  and  that 
you  have  adopted  it  out  of  pity." 

"  Well  (said  Elspeth)  I  swear  to  do  so,  if  that  will 
satisfy  you:"  but  however  he  might  appear  to  be  satis 
fied,  Elspeth  was  not  a  moment  off  her  guard.  It 
grew  lighter  every  moment,  and  her  courage  propor- 
tionably  increased,  yet  she  kept  the  pistol  cocked  in 
her  hand,  and  her  eye  never  for  a  moment  wandered 
from  the  face  of  the  officer.  As  they  approached 
the  shore,  and  were  turning  the  boat  round  to  land 
the  officer  first ;  she  watched  her  opportunity,  and 
springing  upon  the  rock  with  the  agility  of  a  fawn, 
was  at  the  top  in  a  moment,  then  firing  the  pistol 
in  the  air,  "  now  (said  she)  be  off  or  you  are  surroun 
ded  without  the  possibility  of  escape."  The  officer 
who  had  one  foot  on  shore  prudently  drew  it  back 
again,  while  Elspeth  shouted  to  the  retreating  boat, 
"  That  handkerchief  contains  a  ring  that  slipped 
from  her  finger,  I  did  not  mean  to  steal  it,  return  it 
to  her."  The  officer  drew  his  sword  and  shook  it 
at  her  in  a  menacing  manner,  which  Elspeth  ans 
wered  by  the  discharge  of  the  other  pistol,  then 
slowly  turning  round  sought  her  cabin. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  141 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  The  sound  of  war 

"  Has  lost  its  terrors ;   ere  it  reaches  ni« 
"  Grieves  but   alarms  me  not." 

THE  streak  of  day  in  the  Eastern  horizon,  had 
now  given  place  to  one  wide  sheet  of  light,  and  the 
purple  blush  glowed  upon  the  ocean  and  rested  upon 
the  beautiful  upland  scenery  rising  from  the  beach. 
Elspeth  paused;"  shall  I  venture  to  stay  at  my  cot 
tage  with  this  precious  charge  1"  she  said,  "  had  I 
not  better  take  another  path  and  go  immediately 
into  the  town  1"  She  stopped  irresolute. 

The  boat  was  fast  receding  and  the  child  begin 
ning  to  grow  uneasy  determined  her;  "poor  little 
stranger,"  said  she, "I  will  take  care  of  you  first,"  so 
saying  she  entered  the  cottage,  and  having  secured 
the  door,  proceeded  to  get  some  nourishment  for 
Hie  infant.  Then  wrapping  it  up  carefully,  and  se 
curing  the  purse  of  gold  about  her  person,  she  once 
more  took  it  under  her  cloak,  and  proceeded  tow 
ards  Newport.  The  sun  was  just  rising  as  she  gained 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  her  red  broadcloth  cloak 
became  somewhat  uncomfortable,  for  a  kind  of  indis 
tinct  fear  had  increased  her  naturally  quick  step  al 
most  to  a  run.  Looking  about  her,  Elspeth  was 
deliberating  which  way  to  go  to  arrive  at  her  daugh 
ter's  house  in  the  least  time,  and  exposed  to  least 
observation,  when  she  perceived  a  man  turn 
close  by  her,  and  eye  her  with  what  to  her  appeared 
a  suspicious  glance;  quickening  her  pace  she  passed 


142  TALES NATIONAL 

through  several  lanes  successfully,  until  she  readied 
the  Jew's  synagogue,  near  which  there  was  an  out 
let  by  which  she  could  gain  a  private  passage  to  the 
fields,  which  she  determined  to  cross  in  her  way  to 
Broad-street,  a  little  north  of  which  her  daughter  re 
sided.  But  her  evil  genius  did  -not  permit  her  to 
gain  it  undiscovered;  just  as  she  past  the  synagogue, 
the  identical  man  stood  at  her  elbow,  and  laying  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  accosted  her  with  "good  morn 
ing,  nurse,  has  the  King's  ship  sent  you  a  broad*ide 
to  drive  you  out  so  early  in  the  morning  1"  Elspeth 
started,  and  turned  so  deadly  pale  that  the  gentle 
man  (who  was  no  other  than  our  friend  Lawton, 
who  had  just  walked  up  with  his  spy-glass  in  hand 
to  see  what  had  become  of  the  ship,  for  to  say  the 
truth  he  had  many  misgivings  in  his  mind  about  the 
fishing  frolic  and  began  to  fear  there  was  something 
wrong. 

"  By  heavens,  woman,"  said  he,  "  I  fear  there 
is  treason  ahead,  what  have  you  under  your  cloak  1" 
Elspeth  who  had  at  length  recognised  him,  felt  re 
lieved  from  part  of  her  terror,  but  still  unresolvdl 
what  to  do.  At  length  mustering  resolution,  she 
answered,  "  Mr.  Lawton,  I  know  you  are  a  man  of 
honor,  say  nothing  but  meet  me  at  my  son-in-law 
Joshua's  house  within  an  hour,  and  I  will  tell  you  a 
story  that  will  make  your  hair  rise,  but  leave  me, 
leave  me  now."  Lawton  knowing  the  character  of 
Elspeth  for  integrity  and  veracity,  readily  released 
her,  and  promised  to  be  punctual  to  his  appointment. 

The  child  now  began  to  be  uneasy  again,  and  the 
recent  alarm  had  caused  almost  the  whole  town  t0 
turn  out  much  earlier  than  usual,  so  that  if  Elspel^ 
had  not  had  the  precaution  to  go  by  the  way  of  the 
fields,  she  would  probably  have  been  discovered  . 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  143 

but  by  dint  of  manoeuvring  after  she  past  them, 
threading  narrow  lanes,  and  striking  out  of  every 
public  spot,  she  managed  to  reach  her  daughter's 
house  undiscovered. 

In  a  few  words  Joshua  and  his  wife  were  made  ac 
quainted  with  her  night's  adventure,  and  sworn  to 
secrecy,  and  Hannah  her  daughter,  who  had  a  most 
compassionate  heart,  readily  took  the  poor  little 
stranger  and  put  it  to  her  breast,  resolving  to  divide 
the  nourishment  which  nature  had  provided  for  her 
own  child,  with  the  little  outcast.  In  about  an  hour 
Lawton  called,  and  after  being  duly  sworn,  for  no 
persuasion  would  induce  Elspeth  to  confide  in  any 
one  without  swearing,  he  was  made  acquainted 
with  the  secret,  and  shewn  the  bundle  that  Elspeth 
carried  under  her  cloak  It  was  well  they  swore  him, 
otherwise  his  indignation  wonld  have  betrayed  them. 
He  stormed  and  swore  tremendously.  "  The  cold 

blooded  scoundrel!    the  d d  villain,  murder  an 

infant — a  sister's  child,  some  of  his  own  blood,  for 
pride.  Oh  that  the  whole  country  might  be  made 
acquainted  with  it,  it  was  enough  to  nerve  every 
man's  hand  against  the  enemy.5'  With  some  diffi 
culty  Elspeth  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to  si 
lence,  and  finally  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  it 
would  be  best  to  pass  off  the  child  as  one  that  had 
been  left  there  at  Joshua's  in  the  course  of  the  night 
and  directed  to  their  protection.  Lawton  now 
desired  a  particular  description  of  the  person  of  the 
officer,  and  of  all  Elspeth  noticed  on  board  the  ship; 
to  ascertain  if  possible,  what  degree  of  rank  he 
held.  To  this,  Elspeth  could  say  but  little. — 
Her  reception  on  board  was  marked  by  the  most 
profound  silence,  except  the  challenge  of  the  senti 
nel  and  the  giving  of  the  watch-word  darkness. 


144  TALES NATIONAL 

"  Darkness  indeed,"  said  Lawton  ;  the  deed  he 
contemplated  was  dark  enough. 

Elspeth  supposed  the  crew  generally  were  sound 
asleep  after  the  debauch  which  had  been  contriv 
ed  on  purpose ;  however  they  had  little  hesitation  in 
believing  that  the  unknown  was  the  commander  of 
the  ship.  In  the  course  of  the  day  Joshua  removed 
his  mother's  things  from  the  cottage,  and  gave  it  up 
to  the  owners,  saying,  "  it  was  not  safe  for  his  moth 
er  to  live  there  in  such  perilous  times."  The  sight 
of  the  infant  and  the  story  of  its  being  left,  &c«  exci 
ted  some  interest  at  the  time,  but  people  were  then 
in  such  a  continual  state  of  alarm  that  the  circum 
stance  was  but  little  talked  off. 

At  this  time  Newport  began  to  be  deserted ;  fam 
ilies  from  all  quarters  of  the  town,  were  flocking  up 
the  river,  generally  to  Providence.  Still  Joshua  and 
his  family  hung  back.  Between  the  towns  of  New 
port  and  Providence  there  had  always  existed  since 
the  first  settlement  of  them,  that  kind  of  rivalship 
that  is  often  to  be  found  between  the  two  parts  of  a 
town,  each  striving  to  take  the  precedence.  How  of 
ten  we  see  this  spirit  even  in  children,  who  will 
sometimes  distinguish  themselves  as  the  up-town 
boys  and  the  down-town  boys,  or  the  inhabi 
tants  of  old  town  and  new  town.  The  case  was  a 
little  more  serious  between  the  two  towns,  and  it 
became  quite  fashionable  when  speaking  of  New 
port,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  rival  town,  to  call  it 
the  land  of  fog;  Sac.  &c.  while  they  in  their  turn 
Avould  distinguish  Providence  by  the  title  of  the 
sand  bank.  The  British  used  to  call  it  in  derision 
"the  hornet's  nest."  But  by  whatever  name  it 
might  be  called,  it  certainly  offered  a  secure  retreat 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  145 

for  the  distressed  inhabitants  of  Newport  and  other 
exposed  places  during  that  memorable  period.  As 
to  the  people  of  Newport,  they  like  other  inhabitants 
of  Islands,  were  greatly  attached  to  their  home,  and 
it  must  have  been  apprehension  of  great  danger  alone 
that  could  have  driven  them  through  Narraganset 
Bay,  to  look  for  safety.  Though  something  more 
than  danger  to  themselves  intimidated  the  family  of 
Joshua,  yet  still  they  lingered,  afraid  to  go  and  afraid 
to  stay,  and  it  was  not  until  the  very  day  that  Gen. 
Prescott  landed,  that  they  set  out. 

Lawton  had  never  called  but  once,  since  he  had 
become  the  possessor  of  Elspeth's  secret,  and  they 
had  almost  forgotten  his  knowledge  of  it,  but  on  the 
morning  of  that  day  he  drove  his  chaise  to  the  door, 
and  throwing  down  the  reins,  ran  into  the  house  ;  the 
first  salutation  was 

"  Why,  Elspcth,  what  do  you  do  herel  Off 
woman,  if  you  expect  to  save  the  life  of  that  child  ; 
do  you  know  that  I  rode  past  the  beach  yesterday 
and  saw  a  boat  near  your  old  hut,  and  several  men 
that  I  knew  in  a  moment  to  be  Englishmen,  ransack 
ing  it  1" 

The  affrighted  woman  entreated  to  know  what 
they  should  do,  and  how  they  could  get  off;  Law- 
ton  paused  a  moment;  at  length,  said  he, 

"  I  can  get  you  a  passage — take  a  few  necessary 
articles  of  clothing,  and  bundle  up  your  boy,  and 
jump  in.  Hannah,  you  and  Joshua  can  follow  at  your 
leisure;  I  will  tell  your  where  to  find  the  old  wo 
man."  He  then  wrote  a  direction  to  a  cousin  of 
his  in  Providence,  and  taking  Elspeth  and  the  babe, 
hastened  towards  Bristol  ferry  ;  within  two  miles  of 
the  town  he  overtook  a  family  that  he  knew,  remov 
ing  in  a  wagon,  and  after  a  short  debate,  he  bar- 


146  TALES — NATIONAL 

gained  with  them  to  take  in  Elspeth  and  her  charge, 
and  giving  her  a  line  to  the  officer  stationed  at 
Bristol  Ferry,  to  expedite  her  journey,  he  whis 
pered,  "  Pass  the  boy  as  your  grand-child,"  and 
departed. 

Elspeth  had  named  the  boy  as  his  mother  had 
directed,  "  George;"  but  as  she  had  no  clue  to  a 
sirname,  she  had  called  him  George  Beach,  after 
the  neighborhood  where  she  had  first  landed  him. 
The  beauty  of  the  child  attracted  universal  atten 
tion,  wherever  he  was  seen,  and  as  usual  the  ques 
tion  was  now  asked,  "Whose  beautiful  child  is  if?" 
Elspeth  answered  as  directed,  her  daughter's. — 
Some  of  them  looked  at  her  with  rather  a  doubt 
ful  gaze;  but  Elspeth,  who  had  taught  the  lisper 
to  call  her  granny,  bore  it  out.  They  passed 
Bristol  Ferry  without  molestation,  and  arrived 
safely  in  Providence,  where  Elspeth  found  a  wel 
come  with  Mr.  Lawton's  cousin,  until  Joshua  and 
his  fam  ily  arrived. 

Joshua  procured  a  place  in  a  rope-walk,  and  as 
the  family  were  settled  in  comfortable  quarters, 
peace  seemed  for  a  time  to  dawn  upon  their  hum 
ble  abode,  though  war  was  still  without.  But  it 
was  fated  to  be  of  short  continuance;  the  health  of 
Joshua,  which  had  begun  to  decline  before  they 
left  Newport,  now  suddenly  failed  him  entirely, 
and  he  was  at  once  laid  up  by  a  lingering  fever. 
They  had  five  children,  besides  the  little  stranger, 
and  poverty  began  to  stare  them  in  the  face. 

The  gold  which  Elspeth  had  received  with  her 
charge,  they  had  resolved  to  keep  for  his  future 
use;  but  it  was  now  impossible,  and  upon  this  they 
subsisted,  for  the  most  part,  for  two  or  three 
years ;  for  although  Joshua  was  restored  in  some 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  147 

months  to  a  state  of  convalescence,  yet  his  health 
did  not  continue  good.  Frequent  attacks  of  a 
rheumatic  complaint  obliged  him  to  discontinue  his 
exertions  for  the  support  of  his  family;  but  at 
length  his  health  seemed  restored,  and  they  began 
at  the  close  of  the  war,  to  look  up  again. 

About  this  time  Joshua  resolved  upon  removing 
to  New- York,  where  the  wages,  he  was  informed, 
were  much  higher,  and  work  in  his  line  in  greater 
demand.  Hither  then  they  removed. 

It  cost  the  whole  family  many  pangs  to  go  so 
far  from  Rhode-Island ;  but  the  thing  looked  so 
promising,  it  was  not  to  be  given  up:  and  beside, 
prudence  whispered  it  would  be  best,  on  account  of 
the  safety  of  the  child,  whose  tyrant  uncle  Elspeth 
feared  much  more,  than  she  expected  friends  to  claim 
him.  Of  his  mother's  fate,  Elspeth  had  many  gloomy 
presages.  She  thought  it  more  than  doubtful  whether 
she  saw  England  alive  again,  even  if  her  brother  had 
permitted  her  to  live,  which  Elspeth  some  doubted. 
Yet  considering  her  delicate  frame,  her  distress  of 
mind,  and  the  want  of  many  comforts  which  she  must 
necessarily  experience  on  ship-board,  particularly  of 
rest  and  quiet,  Elspeth  thought  it  more  than  probable 
she  might  be  dead.  Yet  there  had  always  been  a 
full  persuasion  in  her  mind  that  the  boy  would  finally 
be  claimed,  if  she  could  contrive  to  keep  him  secret 
ed  for  a  time;  and  this  reconciled  her  to  go  from 
Rhode-Island.  She  sent,  however,  to  Lavvton,  an 
account  of  their  removal,  with  a  direction  how  to 
procure  information  of  her  in  New-York,  should  any 
inquiries  be  made  of  him,  which  he  judged  from  a 
friendly  quarter. 

As  they  passed  out  of  the  harbor  of  Newport, 
poor  old  Elspeth  strained  her  tearful  eyes  in  vain,  to 


143 


TALES — NATIONAL 


catch  a  distant  view  of  her  old  habitation,  which  she 
felt  persuaded  she  could  see;  because  there  was  not 
a  ship  that  entered  the  harbor  of  Newport,  but  what 
they  could  see  from  the  hut.  Alas!  she  looked  in 
vain !  Even  in  the  brief  period  which  had  intervened, 
it  had  been  levelled  with  the  dust,  and  not  the  slight 
est  vestige  of  a  human  habitation  was  discoverable 
on  the  spot.  This  Joshua  discovered  by  means  of 
a  spy-glass;  his  mother  dropped  a  few  tears,  which 
she  hastily  wiped  away  with  the  corner  of  her  blue 
checked  apron,  then  smoothing  it  down,  with  a  smile 
of  exultation  she  said,  "  Well,  the  Captain  will  look 
in  vain  for  it,  if  he  should  come  again;  that  is  one 
comfort." 

After  their  arrival  in  New- York,  for  a  time,  busi 
ness  went  on,  and  "  the  world,"  as  Elspeth  express 
ed  it,  "  went  well  with  them."  But  a  season  of  suf 
fering  again  returned.  Joshua  was  visited  with  his 
old  complaint,  a  lingering  fever;  his  wife  and  Elspeth 
made  great  exertions  to  support  the  family,  by  taking 
in  washing,  ironing,  &c.  and  they  had  the  precaution 
to  remove  to  a  cheaper  tenement,  and  one  more  cen 
tral  for  their  business.  But  a  cellar  tenement  El 
speth  found  disagreed  with  her,  and  she  was  laid  up 
with  the  rheumatism.  Poor  Hannah  had  now  to 
struggle  through  alone,  with  no  other  help  but  that 
of  her  children,  the  oldest  of  whom  worked  in  the 
rope-walk,  and  from  his  wages  they  derived  a  little 
help;  and  those  who  were  large  enough,  drew  water, 
folded  clothes,  went  of  errands,  and  assisted  in  cook 
ing  their  food.  To  conceal  their  poverty,  if  possible, 
was  a  most  desirable  thing;  for  had  the  extent  of  it 
been  known,  they  must  have  been  sent  back  to  New 
port  as  paupers;  and  this  their  decent  pride  revolted 
at  the  thought  of.  Besides  which,  they  must  in  th<\ 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  149 

case,  inevitably  have  parted  with  their  children,  and 
little  George  beside,  whom  Elspeth  had  solemnly 
promised  to  keep  with  her  during  life,  unless  claim 
ed  by  his  parents.  He  was  now  a  fine  boy  ol  seven 
years.  They  had  managed  to  keep  him  to  school 
ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  profit  by  instruc 
tion;  he  was  a  forward  boy  to  learn,  and  though 
trained  in  poverty,  there  was  something  in  the  looks 
of  the  child,  and  in  his  deportment,  young  as  he  was, 
that  seemed  like  inherent  greatness.  He  was  in 
truth  a  noble-minded  little  fellow,  and  often  during 
this  their  extremity,  would  insist  upon  having  his  por 
tion  of  bread  and  milk  divided  among  the  younger 
children,  and  going  supperless  to  bed.  But  this,  nei 
ther  his  aunt  Hannah,  as  he  called  her,  nor  his 
grandmother,  \vould  permit. 

Elspeth,  who  found  herself  daily  declining,  feared 
it  might  prove  her  last  sickness;  arid  come  what 
would,  she  resolved  to  trust  the  child  with  the  cir 
cumstances  of  his  birth.  How  to  make  him  com 
prehend  all  she  wished  him  to  know,  was  rather  a 
difficulty;  but  at  length  she  concluded  upon  the  man 
ner  of  her  disclosure.  Calling  the  little  fellow  to 
her,  in  the  absence  of  the  other  children,  she  be 
gan — 

"  My  dear  little  George,  I  have  something  to  tell 
you,  which  you  must  always  remember.  I  am  not 
your  grandmother,  (George  put  up  his  lip)  don't  cry, 
darling,  I  love  you,  but,  I  am  not  related  to  you. 
Your  mother  was  an  English  lady,  and  your  father 
an  officer  in  the  naval  service  of  Great  Britain.  Do 
you  understand  me!"  "Yes,  granny,  you  have  told 
me  so  much  about  the  war,  that  I  know  who  the 
British  are."  "  Well,  George,  you  was  born  on 
.board  of  one  of  the  King's  ships,  off  Newport,  and 

N* 


150  TALES — NATIONAL 

you  had  a  wicked  Uncle  that  wanted  to  kill  you  and 
I  brought  you  away  and  have  kept  you  ever  since, 
and  if  ever  you  are  a  man,  you  must  go  to  England 
and  try  to  find  out  your  family;  their  names  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  have  a  locket  which  your  mother  put 
round  your  neck,  with  her  Christian  name  engraved 
on  it,  and  if  I  die,  Hannah  will  give  it  to  you," 

Here  little  George  fell  a  crying,  for  fear  his  gran 
ny  would  die,  but  she  quieted  him,  telling  him  "  if 
she  died,  she  should  go  to  heaven,  and  he  must  be  a 
good  boy  and  then  they  should  meet  again,  where  all 
tears  would  be  forever  wiped  away."     "  Cheer  up, 
then,  my  poor  little  fellow,  (said  Elspeth)  and  try  to 
assist  us  to-day,  I  have  been  making  some  matches 
for  you  and  James  to  carry  out;  you  must  cry  them 
along  street,  and  if  you  get  a  few  half-pence  every 
day  it  will  assist  us;  but  one  thing  you  must  promise, 
not  to  go  out  of  this  street."     The  little  fellow  read 
ily    promised  and   as    he    had  just  notions    about 
keeping  his  word,  Elspeth  had  no  fears  of  his  getting 
lost;  the  street  he  was  perfectly  acquainted  with,  he 
had  accompanied  the  children  so  often  in  their  er 
rands.     He  and  little  James  succeeded  to  admiration, 
as  well  as  for  many  succeeding  days,  but  poor  Elspeth 
•was  no  better  and  little  George  would  feel  his  eyes 
fill  with  tears  almost  always  when  he  looked  at  her. 
'Don't  cry,  dear,'  said  Elspeth;  'I  believe  you  have 
a  mother  better  than  I.'      "  Will  I  never  see  her!" 
said  the  child,  bursting  into  a  passion  of    tears.     "  I 
hope  you  may,"  said  Elspeth;  '•  she  said  she  should 
come  to  claim  you  some  time,  and  at  parting  I  whis 
pered  the  name  of  a  gentleman  in  Newport  who  could 
always  tell  where  I  was  to  be  found;  so  if  she  should 
come  to  (seek  you,  he  would  direct  her  here."     The 
poor  ehild  mused  upon  the  story,  but  he  had  been 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  151 

forbidden  to  mention  it  to  the  other  children,  and 
therefore  kept  it  to  himself,  but  on  this  day  it  was 
observed  he  went  forth  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  much 
did  it  grieve  good  Elspeth  to  put  him  to  an  employ 
ment  which  she  conceived  so  much  beneath  his  birth.* 
However,  there  was  no  help,  and  he  cried  the  match 
es  up  and  down  the  street  as  usual,  though  not  with 
his  usual  success;  until  fatigued  and  desponding,  he 
seated  himself  upon  the  steps  of  a  large  house  at  the 
end  of  the  street,  and  began  to  cry  bitterly. 

*  A  very  foolish  notion,  by  the  way,  since  there  is  no 
honest  employment  disgraceful  to  any  one;  but  republi 
canism  was  new  then,  and  the  people  of  this  country  had 
not  entirely  given  up  what  they  called  the  distinctions  of 
blood. 


152  TALES NATION  A   L 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Oh  lives  there, Heaven,  beneath  thy  clear  expanse, 
"One  hopeless,  dark  idolater  of  chance?" 

WE  must  now  shift  the  scene  to  the  interior  of  an 
elegant  dwelling,  where  a  mirror  that  extended  from 
the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  revealed  the  person  of  a  ferhale 
lovely  as  the  fabled  Houris;  she  was  walking  the 
room  apparently  in  great  distress,  her  glossy  brown 
hair  hung  neglected  on  her  shoulders;  and  her  fair 
hands  were  clasped  upon  her  bosom.  With  unsteady 
steps  she  continued  traversing  the  apartment,  and 
ever  and  anon  stopping  to  listen,  as  though  to  coming 
footsteps.  Hour  after  hour  the  fair  being  watched  in 
vain;  at  length  throwing  up  the  sash  and  looking 
down  into  the  street,  she  softly  exclaimed,  "  he  is 
coming;  thank  heaven  I  have  not  lost  him,  too;  but 
oh,  must  I  leave  these  shores  thus,  the  object  of  my 
voyage  unaccomplishedl  my  poor,  poor  little  darling 
unfound,  perhaps  at  this  very  moment  suffering  the 
greatest  misery  and  degradation.  My  God!"  she 
exclaimed,  "if  ever  prayer  ascended  to  thy  throne, 
answer  mine;  oh,  suffer  me  not,  not  to  go  from  this 
place,  until  I  have  found  my  child." 

The  window  was  left  open,  and  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  her  husband's  voice,  she  looked  out  just  as 
he  accosted  the  sobbing  child,  who  had  seated  him 
self  on  the  door  stone.  "  My  poor  little  fellow,"  said 
the  gentleman,  "  what  is  the  matter!"  Said  George, 
"  I  have  cried  matches  all  day  and  only  got  two  half 
pence  to  carry  to  poor  sick  granny."  "  Poor  soul," 


AN!)    REVOLUTIONARY.  153 

said  the  gentleman ;  well,  I  will  give  you  some 
change,  and  an  orange  too,  if  you  will  follow  me  up 
stairs."  The  child  followed,  and  as  he  received  the 
embrace  of  his  beautiful  wife  he  said,  "  Olivia,"  give 
this  child  some  of  your  fresh  oranges,  he  says  he  has 
a  poor  sick  grandmother  at  home."  While  she  was 
looking  for  the  oranges  he  turned  to  the  lad  and  said, 
"  has  your  grandmother  no  one  but  you  to  help  her, 
poor  child!"  "Oh  yes,"  said  George,  "Aunt  Hannah 
washes  all  the  time,  and  Billy  and  Johnny  draw  wa 
ter,  and  James  and  me  carry  matches.  Granny  says 
we  must  do  something  for  bread." 

"Do  you  love  your  grandmother]"  said  the  lady, 
handing  him  the  oranges. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  child,  "she  has  taken 
care  of  me  ever  since  I  was  born." 

"  Then  you  have  no  mother,"  said  the  lady,  sigh 
ing  deeply,  but  George  answered  not.  The  gentle 
man  repeated  the  question,  but  George  still  refused  to 
answer,  and  he  then  asked  "  where  were  you  born, 
child,  will  you  tell  us  that!"  "I  don't  like  to," 
said  the  child;  "  but  if  you  won't  tell,  I  will  tell  you." 
"Well,"  said  the  gentleman,  laughing,  "we  will 
promise  not  to  tell."  "  Well  then,"  said  George, 
looking  all  round  the  room,  to  ascertain  that  no  one 
else  heard  him,  and  coming  quite  close  to  the  gentle 
man,  "I  was  born  in  a  King's  ship." 

The  lady  gave  a  loud  shriek,  and  springing  towards 
him,  raised  the  clusters  of  brown  curls  that  nearly 
hid  his  fine  blue  eyes,  and  shaded  his  little  pale 
cheek;  then  clasping  him  to  her  bosom,  she  exclaim 
ed,  "It  is,  it  is,  my  child,  oh  George,  why  did  I  not 
see  your  likeness  before]"  "  And  why  did  I  not  see 
yours,  Olivia,"  said  the  husband  and  father  folding 


154  TALES NATIONAL 

them  both  in  his  arms,  while  his  wife  was  offering 
thanksgiving  to  the  Hearer  of  Prayer.  The  amazed 
child  now  began  to  comprehend;  he  beheld  his  pa 
rents,  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  he  burst  in 
to  tears.  "  What  is  your  grandmother's  name,"  ask 
ed  Olivia,  "Elspeth,"  said  the  boy.  "The  same; 
and  what  has  she  told  you  beside!"*"  Why,  said  he, 
that  I  had  a  mother  who  would  come  and  take  me  if 
she  lived,  and  get  the  locket,  that  she  tied  round  my 
neck,  and  are  you  my  mother,  (said  George,)  and  will 
little  George  have  a  Papa,  tool  Oh,  how  glad  I  shall 
be.  But  granny  will  think  George  is  lost,  and  cry, 
I  must  go  back."  "  That  is  a  good  boy,"  said  his 
father,  (( and  we  will  go  with  you,  my  precious 
child,"  said  Olivia,  "how  merciful  the  Lord  has 
been  in  sending  you  to  us  this  day,  to-morrow  would 
have  been  too  late;  we  have  been  in  this  country  a 
year,  looking  for  my  child,  and  none  could  tell  what 
had  become  of  Elspeth."  Calling  a  servant,  the  gen 
tleman  directed  him  to  come  to  the  cellar  where  El 
speth  resided,  with  a  basket  of  provisions,  for  he 
gained  from  George  an  account  of  their  situation. 
Then  taking  a  carriage  they  sought  her  habitation  di 
rected  by  their  little  son,  who  always  kept  in  mind 
the  No.  of  the  house.  They  concluded  not  to  an 
nounce  themselves  until  they  had  gained  the  story 
from  Elspeth. 

When  George's  new  found  parents  'led  him  in  to 
the  abode  of  Joshua,  a  scene  of  poverty  and  wretch 
edness  presented  itself,  which  they  had  never  seen 
equalled  before.  It  must  in  truth  have  been  appall 
ing  to  any  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  affluence  to 
have  visited  the  interior  of  their  abode.  In  a  small 
bed  room  that  opened  into  the  outer  cellar  room  lay 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  155 

Joshua  pined  almost  to  a  skeleton,  and  in  a  little  re 
cess  in  the  outside  room  stood  a  small  bed,  where 
poor  old  Elspeth  lay  bolstered  up  upon  pillows,  en 
deavoring  to  still  the  half  famished  cries  of  an  infant, 
while  two  little  children  on  the  floor  were  crying  for 
supper.  Their  mother  was  washing,  and  over  the 
fire  were  a  few  potatoes,  and  before  it  an  Indian  cake. 
"Oh  dear,  kind  people,"  exclaimed Hannali  as  they 
entered,  "you  have  brought  our  lost  child;  AVC  have 
been  frightened  to  death,  and  three  of  the  children 
are  now  in  pursuit  of  him."  The  gentleman  walked 
up  to  Elspeth  and  gave  an  account  of  his  interview 
with  the  boy,  and  added,  "he  is  such  an  interesting 
child  I  really  want  him,  can  you  part  with  him,  good 
womanl"  "  Alas,"  said  Elspeth,  "  I  promised  his 
mother  never  to  part  with  him,  unless  she  or  his  fa 
ther  claimed  him,  and  yet  it  wrings  my  heart  to  have 
him  endure  the  poverty  we  all  have  to  suffer,  but  if 
I  should  die,  I  would  secure  one  friend  for  him,  and 
you  perhaps  might  assist  to  find  his  parents;  sit  down, 
if  you  please,  and  I  will  relate  to  you  a  strange  sto 
ry."  She  then  in  a  few  words  gave  the  history  of 
his  birth,  concluding  with  an  account  of  their  suffer 
ings  since,  and  her  reluctance  to  appropriate  the  con 
tents  of  the  purse  to  the  necessities  of  the  family, 
and  calling  for  a  box,  she  displayed  a  small  locket 
which  was  about  his  neck,  which  she  was  determined 
to  keep;  "though  the  sale  of  it,"  said  she,  "would 
have  saved  us  from  famine."  The  gentleman  hand 
ed  it  to  Olivia.  It  was  set  with  brilliants,  and  con 
tained  a  lock  of  her  mother's  hair  with  her  name, 
which  she  inherited. 

"And  now  good  woman,"  said  the  gentleman, 
"  don't  let  the  surprise  agitate  you,  I  AM  HIS  FA 
THER!" 


156  TALES — NATIONAL 

Elspeth  sprung  up  in  bed,  quick  as  though 
she  felt  no  sickness,  though  she  had  not  turned  her 
self  without  help  for  some  time.  "  His  father," 
said  she,  and  gasping  for  breath,  "where  is  his  moth- 
erl" 

"  Here,"  said  Olivia,  unable  to  contain  her 
self  any  longer,  but  throwing  herself  on  the  bed  and 
clasping  the  emaciated  form  of  Elspeth  in  her  arms, 
"  here  I  am,  righteous  widow,  who  kept  your  prom 
ise  to  a  distracted  mother,  at  the  hazard  of  your  life. 
God  will  at  length  reward  your  kindness  to  my  help 
less  child.  Oh,  Elspeth,  you  have  saved  him,  and  I 
can  never  reward  you,  but  as  far  as  the  comforts  of 
life  can  make  you  happy,  you  shall  be  so.  You  shall 
partake,  you  and  yours  of  the  bountiful  fortune  which 
an  indulgent  God  has  blest  us  with;  but  with  which 
we  must  have  been  miserable  without  our  child." 

Elspeth  raised  her  withered  hands  in  thanksgiving, 
and  Hannah  threw  herself  on  her  knees  to  thank  the 
Supreme  Being. 

"  But,"  said  Olivia,  "  we  are  hindering  your  sup 
per.  To-morrow  we  will  return  and  have  you  all  re 
moved  to  comfortable  apartments,  and  see  if  we  can 
not  cure  you,  and  then  we  will  tell  you  our  story. 
This  dear  child  must  return  with  us,  I  can  never  lose 
sight  of  him  again."  The  child  looked  at  his  grand 
mother;  ec  go,"  said  she,  "  it  is  that  dear  mother  you 
cried  to  see  the  other  day."  The  servant  now  en 
tered  with  a  basket  of  provisions  from  a  neighboring 
cook  shop,  and  some  wine  for  the  sick.  Little  George 
begged  to  stay  and  eat  supper  with  them,  and  his 
mother  to  gratify  him  stayed  until  they  had  supped, 
and  the  sweet  Olivia  busied  herself  in  waiting  upon 
the  sick,  compelling  Hannah  to  sit  down  and  attend 


AND    REVOLUTIONARr.  157 

to  helping  the  children.  They,  poor  little  creatures, 
could  not  restrain  their  joy  at  sight  of  the  provisions 
with  which  their  tahle  was  so  bountifully  covered. 
The  poor  invalid  Joshua,  whose  stomach  had  rejected 
the  portion  of  Indian  cake  and  black  tea  just  offered 
him,  now  greedily  accepted  of  a  slice  of  boiled  ham 
and  nice  white-bread,  and  drank  plentifully  of  the 

good  coffee  setbefore  him.     Capt.  H ,  the  father 

of  little  George,  put  a  small  sum  into  Hannah's  hand 
at  parting,  and  said  they  would  soon  take  measures 
for  their  permanent  relief.  "And  I  entreat  you, 
Hannah,  don't  wash  any  more,  but  devote  every 
moment  to  your  sick  mother  and  husband." 


158  TALES NATIONAL 


CHAPTER   V. 

"A  home  awaits  them,  happier  far, 

"  Than  grandeur's  most  magnificent  saloon." 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  Hannah  ran  to  pay 
her  quarter's  rent  which  was  just  due,  and  also  a 
few  little  debts  due  in  the  neighborhood — and  it  may 
well  be  imagined  their  hearts  were  now  lightened  of 

a  heavy  load.  The  next  forenoon  Capt.  H and 

his  wife  returned  with  little  George,  dressed  so  fine 
they  scarcely  knew  him.  They  had  procured  a  com 
fortable  lodging  for  the  family,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  day  they  were  all  settled  in  their  new  quarters. 
A  physician  was  called  to  Elspeth  and  Joshua,  and 
by  judicious  treatment,  they  were  both  restored  in  a 
few  weeks,  so  as  to  be  able  to  travel.  They  had  in 
formed  Olivia,  of  their  desire  respecting  their  future 
place  of  abode,  and  to  see  them  settled  to  their  hearts' 
content  was  all  that  now  detained  that  amiable  wo 
man  and  her  husband  in  America. 

"  Here,  Elspeth,"  said  Olivia,  one  day  as  she  en 
tered  the  room  of  the  invalid,  "  here  is  the  ring  you 
sent  me  back;  I  have  lived  by  looking  at  that  ring. 
That  inhuman  brother  of  mine  died  a  penitent,  and 
left  a  large  fortune  to  my  child,  if  found."  She  then 
told  Elspeth  that  she  had  been  sent  to  different 
places  to  prevent  a  re-union  with  her  husband;  once 
he  had  discovered  the  place  of  her  retreat,  and  was 
taking  measures  for  her  release,  when  she  was  sent 
into  Spain.  From  thence  she  had  been  summoned 
to  attend  the  dying  bed  of  her  tyrant,  who  gave  her 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  159 

his  property,  except  the-  fortune  which  he  willed  to 
the  child,  it  found."  "  My  brother,"  said  Olivia, 
"  was  a  great  admirer  of  female  heroism,  and  he 
dwelt  upon  your  courage  in  defending  the  life  of 
my  child  with  enthusiasm,  although  he  confessed  he 
had  employed  emissaries  to  search  you  out,  in  order 
to  destroy" it."  "  Oh  Elspcth,"  said  she,  "no  one 
can  tell  all  I  have  suffered;  the  agonies  of  suspense 
about  my  child  have  almost  destroyed  me  at  times; 
my  husband  returned  to  England  from  a  cruise  soon 
alter  my  brother's  death,  and  we  were  married  ac 
cording  to  law,  when  we  immediately  proceeded  to 

this  country  to  look  for  our  child.     Mr.   W to 

whom  you  directed  me  to  apply,  had  removed  to  the 
western  country,  and  Mr.  Lawton  was  dead — and 
we  have  sought  him  and  you  in  vain  for  a  whole 
twelvemonth,  until  Providence  conducted  our  child 
to  our  arms." 

Elspcth  and  Hannah  had  been  consulted,  with  re 
spect  to  their  future  place  of  abode,  and  informed 
that  they  designed  to  purchase  a  place  for  them 
whereon*  they  chose  to  settle,  and  now  the  worthy 
Joshua  and  his  family  felt  all  their  prejudice  for  their 
dear  native  Island  return. 

"  If  we  could  only  have  a  little  something  to  help 
live,  the  country  around  Newport  would  be  my 
choice,"  saidElspeth.  It  was  finally  settled  to  pur 
chase  a  farm  on  the  Island,  and  the  Capt.  and  his 
wife  accompanied  the  happy  family  back  to  their  na 
tive  state.  A  nice  comfortable  little  farm  was  se 
lected,  not  a  great  way  from  their  former  residence, 
where  the  descendants  of  Joshua  and  Hannah  now 
reside.  They  saw  the  family  settled  in  it,  ere  their 
departure  for  the  land  of  their  fathers,  but  alas!  poor 


160  TALES NATIONAL 

Elspeth,  although  she  enjoyed  her  situation  highly, 
could  find  few  of 'her  former  intimates;  death  had  cut 
off  the  older  ones,  and  the  younger  ones  had  remov 
ed  to  different  places. 

Before  they  left,  Olivia  and  her  husband  visited 
the  site  of  Elspeth's  cottage,  not  a  trace  of  which 
was  now  left,  yet  Elspeth  knew  the  spot,  and  point 
ed  out  to  them  the  place  where  the  King's  ship  la) 
on  that  memorable  night — and  "  by  the  time  the 
sun  had  risen  next  day,"  said  she,  "  she  had  hauled 
round  and  resumed  her  station  in  the  fleet  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. 

Capt.  H could  not  be  quite  easy  to  leave  poor 

old  Elspeth  without  making  her  comfortable  in  eve 
ry  respect.  The  parting  between  her  and  her  family 
and  Olivia  and  little  George  was  a  most  affecting  one. 
Before  they  left  New-York,  Capt.  H had  a  mag 
istrate  called  in  and  Elspeth  sworn  to  every  circum 
stance  of  George's  birth.  This  was  necessary,  to  prore 
his  title  to  the  fortune  left  him  by  his  uncle;  after 
this  they  deposited  a  sum  of  money  with  the  good 
old  nurse,  begging  her  to  deny  herself  nothing  that 
would  in  any  way  make  her  latter  days  easy.  Those 
days  were  long  upon  the  earth.  Elspeth  continued 
to  enjoy  her  faculties  to  an  extreme  old  age.  She 
stated  that  she  was  fifty  years  old  the  day  that  Gen. 
Prescott  entered  Newport;  and  she  always  recollec 
ted  when  speaking  of  this,  that  the  Gen.  entered  just 
three  hours  after  her  flight  with  the  child.  It  was  a 
great  draw-back,  though  to  her  comfort,  that  the  be 
nevolent  Lawton  did  not  live  to  witness  the  prosper 
ity  of  herself  and  family.  He  had  paid  the  debt  of 
nature  before  their  return  to  the  Island,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  talk  about  dear  little  George  except 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  161 

Hunnah,  or  none  who  could  sympathize  with  her — 
and  in  fact  there  was  either  a  feeling  of  modesty  in 
the  family  generally,  which  forbade  them  to  speak  of 
what  was  calculated  to  exalt  themselves,  or  they  had 
some  other  reasons  for  keeping  the  story  from  the 
public. 

For  some  years  the  family  of  Joshua  continued  to 
hear  from  their  friends  in  'England,  when  all  at  once 
they  ceased  to  communicate.  Elspeth  had  comple 
ted  her  eightieth  year,  and  although  she  was  bed-rid 
den,  the  faculties  of  her  mind  were  but  slightly  im 
paired.  The  promise  to  the  righteous  that  "  their  light 
shall  not  go  out  in  obscurity,"  seemed  fulfilled  to  her. 
On  that  day,  just  thirty  years  since,  she  fled  from  her 
native  town,  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  a  stranger 
babe.  The  children  of  Hannah,  some  of  whom  had 
married  and  settled  in  different  parts  of  the  Island, 
were  assembled  to  commemorate  the  birth  day  of 
their  aged  relative;  her  withered  hands  were  laid  on 
many  a  little  head  with  granny's  blessing,  while  mirth 
and  good  humor  was  preparing  the  humble  feast  of 
her  birth  night  supper.  Suddenly,  a  splendid  equi 
page  was  seen  to  drive  up  to  the  door,  and  a  gentle 
man  alighted,  handing  out  two  ladies  and  a  little  boy. 
They  enquired  for  Elspeth  and  hastened  to  her  bed 
side.  Kneeling  by  it  the  gentleman  said,  "  Behold 
my  dear,  dear  preserver,  the  child  of  your  adoption. 
I  am  George,  little  George  Beach,  whom  you  preserv 
ed  in  infancy  and  supported  through  so  many  trials — 
here  is  my  sister  Olivia,  my  wife  and  little  George 
my  son,  just  the  same  age  as  I  was  when  you  last 
saw  me,  and  they  say  looking  as  I  did."  Elspeth 
raised  her  head  and  surveyed  the  group.  "  Blessings, 
blessings,  on  you  my  child,  on  you  sweet  Olivia,  liv- 


16£  TALES — NATIONAL 

ing  image  of  your  mother,  and  on  you,  sweet  boy,*' 
said  Elspeth,  folding  them  separately  to  her  bosom; 
"  I  never  expected  to  see  this  day;  but  God  has 
answered  my  prayer,  nevertheless,  and  permitted  me 
to  see  your  sweet  face  once  more,  and  your  mother! 

"  lives,   and  loves   you  still,"  said  George — 

"she  is  surrounded  now  by  a  numerous  family." 
"  God  bless  her,"  said  Elspeth,  fervently,  and  you 
too,  my  son,  who  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  visit 
your  poor  old  nurse.  God  bless,  bless  you  all," 
she  repeated,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  head  of 
George,  then  lifting  up  her  eyes,  while  a  celes 
tial  smile  stole  over  her  countenance.  "  Arid  now 
Lord,  let  thy  servant  depart,  since  mine  eyes  have 
seen  thy  salvation."  The  hand  dropped  lifeless  and  her 
lips  closed  forever.  "  Thou  hast  escaped  to  heaven," 
said  George,  (rising  arid  laying  his  hand  on  the  pale 
forehead)  "  thou  hast  become  the  possessor  of  an 
eternal  habitation,  and  on  that  day  when  the  wrinkles 
of  age  shall  be  exchanged  for  unfading  and  en 
during  beauty,  I  shall  behold  thee  again — till  then, 

farewell." 

*         #         *         *       -  #         *         *         # 

Here  ends  the  story  of  Rosa,  who  for  many  years 
previous  to  the  Revolutionary  war  was  a  neighbor  of 
Elspeth,  and  personally  acquainted  with  her.  The 
story  of  George  Beach  was  not  generally  known,  but 
it  was  communicated  by  the  family  to  Rosa,  who  al 
ways  enjoyed  their  confidence,  and  at  various  times 
was  enabled  to  befriend  them  in  their  day  of  distress, 
while  in  Providence.  Rosa  supposed  George  Beach 
to  have  been  the  person  who  came  to  this  country  in 
the  year  17 — charged  with  a  commission  from  the 
Court  of  the  Sovereign.  Whether  this  supposition 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  163 

be  true  or  not,  we  cannot  ascertain  with  certainty  at 
this  day;  but  if  true,  the  date  of  his  visit,  viz.  thirty 
vears  after  the  capture  of  Newport  by  Prescott,  is 
nighly  incorrect,  as  it  was  many  years  before,  that 
the  character  in  question  visited  this  country,  and  it 
is  scarcely  probable  that  a  commission  of  such  im 
portance  was  borne  by  a  young  man  of  two  or  three 
and  twenty.  However,  it  is  very  possible,  and  high 
ly  probable  too,  that  he -might  have  been  some  per 
son  attached  to  the  Suite. 

Rosa  admitted  there  must  have  been  some  uncom 
mon  motive  for  the  general  silence  of  the  families  of 
Elspeth,  with  respect  to  the  story  oi  George,  as  the 
relations  and  their  few  acquaintance  always  suppos 
ed  the  property  they  possessed  was  acquired  by  in 
dustry  in  New -York,  and  never  troubled  themselves 
to  reflect  (if  they  knew)  how  very  little  time  they 
resided  there  to  accumulate  such  a  property.  How 
ever,  as  they  were  only  one  among  the  numerous  in 
stances  of  persons  who  were  very  poor  before  the 
war,  starting  up  at  its  close  with  great  estates,  this 
was  probably  the  last  circumstance  that  would  cre 
ate  surprise.  Perhaps  they  had  a  pride  in  being 
thought  to  have  accumulated  their  property  by  in 
dustry — and  perhaps  as  they  had  once  passed  the  child 
off  as  a  beggar,  and  finally  as  their  own,  they  might 
shrink  from  the  idea  of  being  exposed  in  so  many 
prevarications,  even  in  a  good  cause.  Or  what  is 
still  more  likely,  they  might  have  been  requested  by 
the  parents  themselves,  either  to  screen  the  charac 
ter  of  their  departed  brother,  or  on  account 
of  the  lady's  fame,  to  say  nothing  about  it. 
Whatever  the  motive  was,  there  evidently  was 
one,  as  upon  being  questioned  by  a  person  in 
who  had  known  them  in  Providence,  "  What  be 


164  TALES NATIONAL 

came  of  that  youngest  boy  you  brought  to  Provi 
dence!"  She  heard  the  answer  hastily  given,  "  we 
lost  him  at  New- York"— and  the  subject  was  then 
dropped. 

This  story  was  narrated  to  the  writer  about  eight 
years  since;  the  real  names  were  then  mentioned, 
but  never  having  known  any  of  the  family,  and  not 
then  having  the  slightest  idea  of  making  the  story 
known  to  the  public,  she  has  taken  no  pains  to  re  - 
member  them.  The  name  therefore,  of  Elspeth 
Brown,  is  not  the  real  one.  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
have  accurately  described  the  cottage,  but  through 
out  the  story  have  endeavored  to  keep  as  near  the 
truth  as  related,  as  possible. 


TALE   FOURTH. 


PROVIDENTIAL,    ESCAPE. 

How  sweet  it  is  to  dwell  on  the  memory  of  depar 
ted  days  ;  to  recall  the  recollection  of  scenes  long 
past ;  of  friends  long  lost.  Perhaps  there  is  no  facul 
ty  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  so  much  of  our  hap 
piness,  as  to  that  of  memory.  It  is  true  that  the 
recollections  of  blessings  we  can  no  longer  enjoy — of 
friends  we  shall  no  more  see — of  scenes  in  which  we 
shall  no  more  participate — are  sometimes  sad  ones  ; 
but  the  melancholy  may  truly  be  called  a  pleasing 
one,  and  the  sadness  is  generally  that  kind  by  which 
the  heart  is  made  better. 

It  is  peculiarly  useful,  too,  to  trace  the  leadings  of 
Divine  Providence  in  the  lives  of  our  friends,  as  well 
as  in  our  own.  Few  persons  who  have  been  at  the 
trouble  of  remembering  such  histories,  will  hesitate 
to  confess,  too,  that  the  "  romance  of  real  Jife"  ex 
ceeds  by  far,  all  that  poets  ever  dreamed,  or  fiction 
ever  painted. 

Of  all  the  scenes  through  which  we  have  ever  pas«- 
ed,  those  of  our  youth  generally  make  the  most  pasting 
and  vivid  impressions;  and  of  all  our  friends  those  of 
our  earlier  years,  arc  generally  the  most  affectionately 


166  TALES NATIONAL 

remembered.  These  reflections  have  been  involun 
tarily  excited  on  the  present  occasion,  by  the  recol 
lection  of  a  story  related  to  me  many  years  since,  by 
one  who  has  long  been  an  inhabitant  of  other  worlds . 
The  look,  the  manner  of  the  venerable  narrator  is 
yet  present,  and  though  years  have  past — the  scenes 
so  eloquently  depicted,  are  still  vivid  to  my  imagina 
tion;  few  persons  possessed  the  happy  art  of  giving 
interest  to  a  story  in  such  a  degree  as  the  subject  of 
the  following  narrative.  The  colloquial  powers  of 
Dr.  Willard  were  not  less  the  subject  of  panegyric, 
than  his  professional  skill — and  none,  who  ever  list 
ened  to  the  flow  of  eloquence,  which  always  accom 
panied  the  relation  of  even  trifling  anecdotes,  can 
possibly  have  forgotten  the  rapt  attention  of  the  list 
eners. 

The  following  extraordinary  train  of  incidents  in 
the  life  of  this  remarkable  man,  had  often  been  rela 
ted  to  the  writer  of  this,  before  she  procured  a  relation 
from  his  own  lips.  No  attempt  can  be  made  to  give 
it  in  the  language  of  Dr.  Willard,  whose  modesty 
must  necessarily  have  suppresed  many  interesting 
particulars  gained  from  other  sources.  In  relating 
the  story  in  question,  the  writer  has  thought  it  neces 
sary  to  give  a  brief  outline  of  the  life  of  Dr.  Willard, 
in  order  that  the  story  may  be  understood ;  and  she 
regrets  that  she  is  not  possessed  of  sufficient  informa 
tion  to  give  to  the  world  the  history  of  a  man  who, 
during  his  short  pilgrimage,  was  so  eminently  useful 
to  his  fellow  beings,  so  distinguished  by  kindness 
of  heart,  and  urbanity  of  manners.  But  to  at 
tempt  a  biography,  is  not  the  object  of  the  following 
narrative,  which  is  merely  to  relate  an  occurrence 
which  proves  in  an  extraordinary  manner  the  super 


AN'D    REVOLUTIONARY.  167 

intending  Providence  of  a  God,  who  watches  over  all 
his  creatures,  and  will  not  by  any  means  suffer  the 
machinations  of  the  wicked  finally  to  triumph,  and 
who  will  eventually  bring  the  secret  workers  of  ini 
quity  to  light. 

EXTRAORDINARY  ADVENTURE. 
A  few  years  before  the  revolutionary  war,  Dr. 
Samuel  Willard,  of  Worcester,  a  young  physician  of 
amiable  manners,  and  rising  reputation,  took  up  his 
residence  in  Uxbridge,  one  of  the  inland  towns  of 
Massachusetts.  He  was  poor,  and  he  commenced 
Jife  with  the  resolution  of  achieving  his  own  fortune, 
and  seeking  by  diligence  and  faithfulness  alone 
to  recommend  himself  to  the  people  among  whom  he 
commenced  his  professional  career.  His  first  attempt 
in  his  practice,  happily  gave  promise  of  great  success, 
while  the  winning  softness  of  his  mariners  &  suavity  of 
his  deportment  could  not  fail  of  making  many  friends. 
To  the  sick,  in  a  particular  manner,  he  became  at 
once  endeared  from  the  kindness  of  heart  he  discov 
ered,  and  the  sensibility,  which  he  often  found  it  im 
possible  to  restrain.  While  exercised  for  years  in  a 
profession  proverbial  for  hardening  the  heart,  on  ac 
count  of  the  constant  display  of  human  misery,  which 
the  physician  is  obliged  to  contemplate,  it  was  evi 
dent  his  had  never  become  calloused ;  the  patronage, 
therefore,  which  his  skill  had  first  procured,  was  ir 
revocably  secured  by  a  course  of  manners  peculiarly 
pleasing  to  the  people  of  the  village  and  town  where 
he  resided,  and  by  degrees  his  practice  became  exten 
ded  to  the  neighboring  towns  also  ;  and  in  every  diffi 
cult  case,  people  seemed  to  think  there  was  a  moral 
impossibility  of  getting  along  without  his  opinion. 


168  TALES — NATIONAL 

In  the  comparative  simplicity  of  that  period,  it  was 
no  offence  to  call  in  the  advice  of  a  physician  in  doubt 
ful  cases,  if  the  afflicted  person,  or  his  family  chose, 
without  the  trouble  of  consulting  the  regularly  attend 
ing  physician,  or  running  the  risk  of  offending  him, 
unless  indeed,  he  happened  to  be  a  most  unreasonable 
man.  That  the  life  of  a  human  being  was  at  stake, 
was  then  deemed  a  sufficient  apology  for  calling  in 
whom  one  pleased  ;  and  that  the  life  of  a  fellow  be 
ing  was  at  issue,  was  deemed  sufficient  excuse  for 
that  physician,  whenever  he  happened  to  be  for  ex 
ercising  his  own  independent  judgment,  whether  it 
happened  to  clash  with  the  prescriptions  of  his  pre 
decessor  or  not.  In  those  days  society  was  untram 
melled  b  y  the  ten  thousand  ridiculous  customs  and 
restrictions,  that  now  prevent  almost  every  one  from 
daring  to  say,  as  the  old  phrase  goes,  his  soul  is  his 
own,  and  it  may  be  added,  or  his  body  either.  It  did 
not  therefore  require  a  particular  manner  of  consulting 
a  new  physician,  nor  was  the  patient  obliged  to  wait 
until  such  a  one  had  conferred  with  the  old  one,  and 
agreed  to  say  that  every  thing  had  been  done 
perfectly  right ;  or  at  least  we  conclude  that  was  not 
the  case,  as  the  person  in  question  very  frequently  did 
find  fault  with  the  course  pursued  with  the  sick, 
previous  to  his  visit,  not  unfrequently  throwing  their 
medicines  out  of  the  window,  and  expressing  in  no 
moderate  terms,  his  indignation  at  the  injudicious 
treatment  previously  pursued,  &c.  &c. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  this  course 
could  be  followed,  without  giving  offence.  Among  his 
host  of  attached  friends,  who  would  at  any  time  have 
risked  their  lives  for  his  service,  the  Doctor  had 
some  bitter  enemies.  But,  however,  they  might  hate 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  169 

him  in  secret,  they  dared  not  attack  him  openly.  He 
had  beside  given  much  umbrage  on  account  of  his 
political  principles,  as  like  many  persons  of  great 
genius  and  mental  endowments,  he  was  irritable; 
and  although  his  resentment  would  sometimes  vent 
itself  for  a  few  moments,  yet  it  was  always  succeeded 
by  the  display  of  dispositions  so  peculiarly  amiable, 
that  there  were  many  who  really  appeared  to  love  him 
more  on  account  of  this  human  failing. 

Dr.  W.  was  distinguished  by  a  truly  liberal  and 
benevolent  spirit ;  he  loved  to  see  others  happy,  and 
it  was  his  study  to  make  them  so.  He  lived  in  an  el 
egant  mansion,  which  he  had  taken  great  pains  to 
adorn,  where  a  continual  influx  of  company  serv 
ed  to  enliven  the  scene,  and  his  residence  was 
the  very  mansion  of  hospitality,  where  taste,  elegance 
and  refinement  presided.  Strangers  from  all  quar 
ters,  attracted  by  the  local  scenery  of  the  place,  the 
variety  of  company  to  be  found  there,  and  above 
all,  by  the  charms  of  his  conversation,  enlivened  as  it 
was,  by  a  fund  of  ever  ready  wit  and  humor — con 
tinually  flocked  to  the  village,  as  well  as  to  the  hos 
pitable  mansion  of  Dr.  W.  Even  the  old  village 
physician,  who  looked  very  blank  upon  his  first  set 
ting  up  in  the  place,  was  glad  to  lay  by  all  enmity  in 
appearance,  and  to  join  the  group  of  happy  guests 

assembled  there.     Old  Dr   W ,  who  had  once 

hoped  to  monopolize  all  the  practice  in  the  place, 
had  certainly  seen  with  very  bitter  feelings  the  ad 
vancing  prosperity  and  rising  fame  of  his  rival ;  and 
it  cost  him  many  a  groan  before  he  could  give  up  to 
ccept  of  the  overtures  of  hospitality  and  neighborly 
kindness  of  his  powerful  competitor.  But  at 


170  TALE  S N  AT  I  ON  A  L 

length  he  was  obliged  to  turn  with  the  tide,  and  fol 
low  in  the  wake  of  his  more  popular  successor.  This 
seemed  to  be  reversing  the  order  of  things,  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it. 

Old  Dr.  W was  not  without  friends  and 

partisans;  but  they  were  few ;  his  manners  were  not 
prepossessing,  a  misfortune  certainly,  to  those  who 
profess  the  healing  art.  I  have  often  thought,  that 
the  manners  of  a  physician  in  a  sick  room,  had  a 
great  effect  on  the  patient,  and  no  one  whose  misfor 
tune  it  is  to  be  cold,  repulsive  and  forbidding,  is 
very  likely  to  become  popular,  let  his  professional 
abilities  be  what  they  may.  Sick  people  nearly  're 
semble  children,  and  they  love  to  be  addressed  in  the 
language  of  tenderness.  Dr.  Willard  was  one  who 
fully  realized  the  necessity  as  well  as  duty  of  tender 
ness  to  the  sick.  He  rarely  addressed  any  of  his 
patients  without  the  epithet  of  "  my  kind  neighbor," 
"my  good  friend,"  or  "  my  dear  child." 

Nor  let  it  be  supposed  there  was  any  hypocrisy  in 
this  ;  the  feelings  of  his  heart  were  kind  towards  the 
whole  human  race.  He  was  peculiarly  successful  in 
curing  that  most  afflictive  of  all  human  diseases,  mad 
ness,  and  constantly  had  a  number  of  those  diseased 
persons  under  his  care.  He  was  sometimes  accused 
of  using  rough  methods  with  them,  and  doubtless  it 
was  so,  since  no  other  way,  it  was  then  thought, 
would  answer,  when  they  became  outrageous.  The 
writer  of  this  narrative  is  enabled  to  say,  not  only 
from  information,  but  from  actual  observation,  while 
residm0"  in  the  very  near  neighborhood  of  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  asylums  in  our  country — that  his 
methods  were  such  as  others  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  using,  until  very  lately  that  the  Quakers  and  others 
have  been  successful  in  combatting  the  opinion,  that 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY'. 


171 


force  and  unnecessary  restraint  are  useful.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  Dr.  Willard  was  very  successful  with 
patients  of  this  description. 

Though  enjoy  ing  a  princely  income,  he  never  refus 
ed,  at  any  period  of  his  life,  to  turn  out  in  the  cold 
est  and  most  inclement  season,  day  or  night,  for 
even  the  poorest  and  most  despised  of  the  human 
family.  It  was  not  a  question  with  him  whether  he 
should  ever  be  paid.  If  his  services  were  needed, 
either  for  rich  or  poor,  for  friends  or  foes,  he  was 
ever  ready.  It  was  however  previous  to  this  great 
success,  and  while  his  reputation  was  yet  on  the  rise, 
that  the  following  circumstance  occured. 

It  was  on  a  dark  night,  and  I  think  in  cold  weather, 
that  a  horseman  rode  up  to  the  dwelling  of  the 
Doctor,  between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve, 
and  rapping  loudly  at  the  door,  demanded  if  Doc 
tor  W.  was  at  home.  Upon  being  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  he  requested  him  to  accompany  him,  to 
see  a  patient,  in  a  case  of  great  emergency,  stating 
that  he  feared  that  she  might  not  live  without  help, 
until  they  got  there,  unless  they  made  great  haste  ; 
the  distance  he  stated,  and  gave  the  name  of  the  per 
son,  and  the  Doctor  hastened  to  accompany  him. 
For  about  three  miles  they  kept  the  great  road,  and 
here  the  going  was  passable,  but  upon  entering  the 
back  road,  as  it  was  called,  leading  through  a  part 
of  what  is  now  Burrillville,  the  way  became  more 
rough  and  uneven ;  still  the  Doctor  being  famil 
iar  with  it,  kept  on  at  good  speed  and  traversed  it 
up  hill  and  down,  now  over  a  broken  bridge,  com 
posed  of  a  few  loose  rails,  where  a  deep  river  foamed 
and  roared  and  sparkled  beneath,  and  now  striding, 
nils  deep  enough  to  upset  an  ordinary  carriage,  and 


172  TALES NATIONAL 

highly  dangerous  as  it  was.  His  horse,  accustomed 
to  the  road  at  all  hours,  instinctively  avoided  all 
entanglement,  and  kept  steadily  on  his  course,  while 
the  one  upon  which  the  stranger  was  mounted,  snort 
ed  and  reared,  and  threatened  often  to  dismount  the 
person  who  rode  him.  After  proceeding  in  this  road 
about  two  miles,  where  they  had  only  passed  one 
house,  they  suddenly  halted  before  a  gate,  leading  to  a 

large  old  fashioned  mansion  belonging  to  the  A 

family.  This  ancient  building,  with  its  spacious  row 
of  out-houses,  lay  buried  in  profound  darkness,  and 
profound  silence  too,  except  as  the  baying  of  a 
watch- dog  alone  disturbed  the  deep  repose.  This 
had  often  been  the  stopping  place  of  the  Doctor  in 
his  midnight  excursions  ;  here  he  was  sure,  at  any 
hour,  of  a  cordial  welcome  and  the  best  of  enter 
tainment,  and  what  was  of  more  consequence  to  him, 
the  conversation  of  the  ancient  mistress  of  the  man 
sion,  who  having  now  lived  beyond  the  common 
term  of  human  life,  was  a  living  chronicle  of  olden 
times,  and  would  often  entertain  the  Doctor  with 
her  antideluvian  stories,  until  he  would  fain  forget 
where  he  was ;  and  I  have  heard  that  once  upon  a 
time,  she  kept  him  there  a  day  and  a  half  telling  a 
story,  which  she  had  not  completed,  when  the  people 
finding  '»vhere  he  was,  began  to  flock  after  him  from 
all  quarters.  This  was  pretty  likely  exaggerated] 
however,  he  did  always  listen  to  the  relations  and 
ancient  stories  of  marme,  as  he  called  her,  with  great 
attention.  It  Avas  not  surprising  that  the  horse 
should  draw  up  to  the  arched  gateway,  and  insist 
upon  entering,  but  when  informed  that  he  must  go 
further,  it  was  strange  indeed  that  he  should  per 
tinaciously  refuse  to  obey  ;  he  would  not  stir  one 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  173 

step  without  what  was  a  very  uncommon  infliction 
to  him,  several  severe  blows.  The  stranger  became 
alarmed  the  watch  dog  barked  loudly,  and  he  ventur 
ed  to  hurry  the  Doctor  once  more,  by  the  sugges 
tion,  that  the  "  patient  might  die  before  they  got 
there."  The  appeal  to  his  humanity  was  never  lost, 
and  instantly  and  forcibly  turning  his  horse's  head,  he 
W7as  again  on  his  journey. 

The  road  now  became  perceptibly  worse  for  half  a 
mile,  where  one  solitary  and  unfinished  house,  was 
the  only  habitation  in  sight,  and  at  the  end  of  this  half 
mile,  they  ascended  a  steep  and  winding  hill,  and  en 
tered  a  thick  gloomy  wood,  about  two  miles  long, 
where  the  tall  trees  met  at  top,  so  as  totally  to  ex 
clude  the  sun  in  the  day  time, — of  course  the  road,  if 
it  deserved  that  name,  was  little  better  than  a  swamp. 
Few  persons  could  traverse  that  road  in  the  day  time 
without  a  sensation  of  awe .  Superstition  had  peopled 
its  dark  retreats  with  ideal  personages.  There  was 
no  such  thing  as  seeing  the  way,  the  only  means  there 
fore,  was  to  give  the  horse  the  reins  and  let  him  find 
the  way  through  the  best  he  could.  They  had 
proceeded  about  midway,  when  entering  a  hollow, 
which  deepened  on  one  side  into  a  dark  valley,  thick 
er  wooded— the  stranger  suddenly  stopped,  uttering 
an  exclamation  of  distress,  saying  his  horse  had 
thrown  him — it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  either 
him  or  the  horse,  but  guided  by  the  sound,  the  Doctor 
was  instantly  at  his  side,  and  in  the  act  of  dismount 
ing,  with  one  foot  on  the  ground,  when  a  shrill  whis 
tle  from  his  companion,  and  a  quick  rustling  in  the 
neighboring  bushes,  induced  him  to  withdraw  it.  The 
sagacious  animal  sprang  to  the  other  side  of  the  road, 
and  fled — carrying  him  swiftly  from  his  pursuers.  wHn 


174  TALES — NATIONAL 

he  fancied  for  a  time  had  mounted  and  were  straining 
every  nerve  to  overtake  him.  Mounting,  he  spurned 
the  ground,  and  notwithstanding  the  roughness  of  the 
way,  soon  distanced  his  pursuers ;  emerging  from  the 
wood,  he  descended  a  hill  winding  to  the  left — and 
passing  through  another,  but  smaller  wood,  he  gained 
the  deep  valley  beside  the  river  where  his  master  for 
the  first  time  could  see  to  rein  him.  No  sound 
except  the  murmuring  of  the  beautiful  river,  over 
its  pebbly  bed — the  song  of  the  whippoorwill,  the 
hooting  of  the  owl,  and  the  flitting  bat,  disturbed  the 
deep  repose  where  now  the  hum  of  business  is  heard  ar 
ound  the  spacious  manufactories  &  populous  village  of 
Slatersville — not  a  single  habitation  then  marked  the 
spot  where  nature  seemed  to  reign  in  primeval  gran 
deur.  Its  unbroken  and  awful  solitude  struck  upon 
the  traveller's  heart,  with  that  sickening  sense  of 
dread  that  the  scene  under  such  circumstances,  was 
calculated  to  inspire.  "  Where  should  he  fly  for 
safety  1"  The  interrogation  lasted  only  an  instant; 
still  keeping  the  left — he  urged  the  generous  animal 
to  ascend  the  tremendous  hill  that  now  forms  the 
centre  of  the  village,  and  fled  towards  the  high  road. 
This  once  gained  soon  conducted  him  to  the  residence 
of  a  family  of  Quakers,  in  Smithfield,  his  warm  and 
assured  friends,  and  hither  it  was  his  design  to  have 
gone;  but  by  some  mistake,  he  did  not  gain  the  great 
road,  and  got  into  one  with  which  he  was  unacquaint 
ed — here,  however,  he  soon  came  to  a  small  unfinish 
ed  house,  and  knocking,  demanded  admittance.  The 
thought  that  this  might  be  the  residence  of  the  thieves, 
or  whatever  they  were  that  attacked  him,  caused  him 
for  a  moment  to  hesitate,  even  after  the  inmates  bade 
him  enter;  but  at  length,  with  the  courage  of  despe- 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  175 

ration,  he  resolved  to  brave  it.  The  woman  called 
to  him  to  be  careful  if  he  came  in,  in  creeping  over  the 
naked  timbers  of  the  house,  as  there  was  no  floor  in 
the  room  he  would  have  to  pass  through.  He  enter 
ed  the  back  door  and  secured  it  on  the  inside,  then 
sought  the  sleeping  room  of  his  host  and  wife,  to  whom 
he  related  his  perilous  adventure,  and  providential 
escape.  They  were  in  utter  amazement — they  knew 
him  by  report,  and  could  not  suppose  he  had  any  such 
enemies. 

The  whole  family  were  in  the  utmost  consterna 
tion  ;  they  arose  and  struck  a  light — and  by  the  dawn 
ing  of  day,  a  number  of  the  neighbors  were  in  readi 
ness  to  search  for  the  conspirators,  but  in  vain;  none 
of  them  could  be  found,  and  the  fruitless  pursuit  was 
at  length  relinquished.  The  whole  country  was  in  a 
state  of  excitement  about  it  for  some  time,  but  at 
length,  it  wore  off;  and  by  degrees  ceased  to  be  talked 
of.* 

Years  rolled  on  and  the  prosperity  of  Dr.  Willard 
knew  no  change.  The  circumstances  of  the  adven 
ture  in  Surrillville  woods,  or  Glocester  woods,  as 
they  then  were,  had  almost  been  forgotten,  and  he 
himself  had  almost  ceased  to  think  of  it,  except  when 
passing  the  gloomy  spot  where  it  occurred  after  dark. 
In  that  portion  of  the  country,  such  a  thing  as  crime 
was  very  rare,  and  many  had  adopted  the  belief  that 
the  fears  of  the  Doctor  were  greater  than  the  occasion 

*  Upon  reaching  the  place  where  the  outrage  was  at 
tempted,  several  large  clubs  were  found,  which  the 
assassins  had  thrown  down  in  their  haste  to  escape,  which 
proved  the  fact  that  the  barbarous  method  of  dispatch  was 
to  have  been  by  clubbing  him  to  death. 


176  TALES NATIONAL 

called  for,  although  of  the  existence  of  a  plot  no  one 
could  doubt,  since  they  had  at  first  ascertained  that 
no  such  persons  as  the  stranger  named  had  sent  for 
him. 

About  this  time  there  was  a  fellow  taken  up  in 
Smithfield,  by  the  name  of  Wilson,  accused  of  some 
high  crime,  for  which  he  was  condemned  to  death, 
and  the  day  of  his  execution  which  was  to  take  place 
in^  Providence,  about  25  miles  distant,  appointed.  So 
rare  a  speclacle,  called  together  many  from  the  neigh 
boring  towns,  some  drawn  by  that  strange  passion  for 
seeing  sights  of  horror  so  common  to  mankind — some 
from  having  a  knowledge  of  the  man,  and  feeling  a 
degree  of  interest  in  his  fate.  Among  the  rest,  Dr. 
Willard  detei mined  to  go — feeling  some  strange  in 
terest  in  the  fate  of  the  wretched  being,  whom  he  only 
knew  by  report,  and  desirous  perhaps  as  physicians 
generally  are  to  witness  death  in  its  every  form.  He 
set  off  late  in  the  day  preceding  that  appointed 
for  the  execution,  and  calling  on  Dr.  W- ,  pre 
vailed  on  him  to  bear  him  company.  It  was  late  in 
the  evening  when  the  two  physicians  arrived  in  town; 
but  notwithstanding,  the  streets  were  alive  with  peo 
ple  hastening  to  procure  lodgings  for  the  night,  in  or 
der  to  be  early  on  the  ground  the  following  morning. 
Our  travellers  proceeded  to  the  house  situated  at  the 
fork  of  the  street  on  the  top  of  Constitution  hill,  (where 
engine  No.  2,  now  stands) — kept  by  Major  Thayer, 
at  the  sign  of  the  Indian  Queen.  This  house,  of 
which  there  is  not  a  vestige  now  remaining,  was  then 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  places  of  resort  in  Provi 
dence.  It  was  kept  by  an  old  and  respectable  officer 
of  the  Revolution,  and  it  was  almost  esteemed  a  want 
of  patriotism  not  to  prefer  his  house  to  any  other ; — 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY  177 

besides  the  company  of  mine  host,  who  was  a  very 
conversable  man,  always  full  of  wit  and  anecdotes, 
was  a  most  desirable  acquisition,  and  probably  drew 
more  customers  than  the  accommodations  of  the 
house,  which  even  in  those  days,  must  have  been  rath 
er  antiquated.  The  strange  and  uncouth  form  of  the 
building  is  yet  present  to  memory.  The  rooms  were 
mostly  so  low  studded,  as  to  endanger  the  head  of  a 
tall  man.  The  little  low  chambers  where  one  had  to 
stoop  to  enter,  with  fire  places  more  resembling  port 
holes  than  any  thing  else,  being  deeper  than  they 
were  long  or  broad — the  windows  containing  four 
by  sixes,  or  six  by  eights,  just  as  the  case  might  be ; 
for  no  two  of  them  scarcely,  were  mates,  many  of 
them  being  constructed  at  different  periods — the 
long,  dark,  cheerless  gallery  with  its  ample  row  of 
beds,  and  the  dark  beams  which  projecting  far  from 
the  ceiling  continually  threatened  the  brains  of  the 
unlucky  lodgers,  together  with  the  constant  trouble  of 
stepping  up  a  step  or  down  a  step,  as  you  proceeded 
from  room  to  room, — taken  altogether,  furnished  a 
house  that  in  these  days  woukl  be  considered  as  a  per 
fect  curiosity.  It  was  kept  though  by  the  Major,  and 
the  two  travellers  always  made  it  a  point  of  duty  to 
put  up  there.  On  the  present  occasion  it  was  a  place 
of  great  confusion,  parties  arriving  every  hour,  and 
vociferating  for  this  or  that  accommodation.  The 
bar-room  was  full,  some  of  the  company  appeared 
quite  merry — a  party  had  gathered  around  the  land 
lord,  who  appeared  unusually  full  of  his  jokes  "Well," 
said  Dr.  Willard,  "  I  have  heard  that  hanging  is  no 
laughing  matter,  but  these  people  seem  to  think  it 
is. — However,  we  will  go  in  here  and  get  a  good 
sling,  after  our  long  ride." 


178  TALES NATIONAL 

Giving  the  horses  to  the  care  of  the  hostler,  the 
two  gentlemen  proceeded  to  the  bar-room.  The  Ma 
jor  caught  a  glimpse  of  Dr.  Willard  as  he  edged  his 
way  to  the  bar,  and  extending  his  hand,  shouted 
aloud, 

"  Dr.  Willard,  by  all  the  powers,  you  are  come  in 
a  good  time — have  you  heard  of  the  confession  of 
Wilson  1" 

"  No,  "  answered  the  Doctor,"  but  give  us  a  good 
glass  of  rninzy  sling  this  raw  night,  and  then  tell  us 
your  story." 

"  That  I  will,  my  good  friend,"  responded  the 
hearty  Major,  (proceeding  tobusmess")  but  "  while  I 
am  making  it  I  must  tell  you  that  Wilson  has  con 
fessed  he  was  the  person  hired  to  murder  you  in 
Burrillville  woods,  not  many  years  ago." 

"  Good  God !"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  (staggering 
against  one  of  the  bar  posts  for  support,)  "  and  who 
employed  him  1 " 

"Why,  who  do  you"  think1?"  answered  the  Major, 
"  but  old  Dr.  W -,  your  neighbor." 

The  Dr.  raised  his  eyes  and  threw  a  searching 
glance  around  the  room  for  his  companion.  The 
first  thing  that  suggested  itself  to  the  mind  of  this  gen 
erous  man,  was  to  give  his  enemy  a  signal  to  fly.  He 
was  not,  however,  in  the  room. 

"  Where  is  the  gentleman  who  came  with  me,"  he 
inquired  in  accents  of  alarm. 

"  Gone  to  look  after  his  horse,  I  suspect,"  said  a 
bystander. 

Without  stopping  to  comment  upon  the  story,  the 
Doctor  hastened  to  the  stable,  where  the  hostler  in 
formed  him,  his  companion  had  just  been,  and 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  179 

mounting  his  horse,  had  rode  off  like  lightning. 
"  Thank  God !"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  relieved  of  a 
heavy  burden.  Meanwhile  the  strange  manner  in 
which  the  Doctor  had  received  the  news.,  had  excit 
ed  considerable  attention,  and  the  truth  at  once 
suggested  itself.  It  was  confirmed  in  a  moment  by 

a  person  exclaiming,  "  Where  is  W = — ,  he  came 

with  Doctor  Willardl"  Instantly  the  whole  house 
was  in  confusion,  and  "where  is  hel  where  is  he!" 
was  vociferated  from  all  quarters,  followed  by  the 
words  "seize  him!  pursue  him  !"  &c.  &c.  As  the 
alarm  extended  through  the  house,  travellers  came 
pouring  from  their  rooms  in  every  direction,  running 
against  one  another,  and  stumbling  about  in  the  dark 
passages  of  the  mansion.  Some  thought  that  Wilson 
had  broke  out  of  jail,  and  was  in  the  house,  others 
that  somebody  had  just  been  murdered;  in  fact  there 
was  no  one,  except  those  who  stood  near  the  barn,  that 
knew  the  cause  of  the  uproar,  but  as  the  crowd 
seemed  to  settle  towards  the  barn  yard,  each  one 
endeavored  to  press  on  in  that  direction.  Here  a 
strange  scene  was  exhibited,  several  men  were  in  the 
act  of  mounting  their  horses,  others  loudly  calling  for 
theirs,  while  the  Doctor,  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 
was  haranguing  them,  and  urging  them  to  desist 
from  pursuit.  As  to  the  Major,  he  was  almost  foam 
ing  at  the  mouth  and  urging  them  on  with  all  the 
energy  he  was  capable  of.  The  Doctor  was  per 
suading  them  to  forbear  and  leave  him  to  the  stings 
of  a  guilty  conscience.  Many  heard  to  him  and  dis 
mounted,  others  actually  followed  in  the  direction 
they  supposed  he  had  taken,  (the  very  last  way  he 
probably  would  have  taken)  until  they  ascertained 


180  TALES NATIONAL 

they  were  not  in  his  track,  and  ignorant  which  way 
to  pursue  in  the  dark,  and  fearful  of  losing  the  next 
day's  sport, -returned  again  to  the  inn. 

The  guilty  cause  of  all  this  uproar,  in  the  mean 
time,  made  good  his  escape,  and  cleared  out  that 
very  night  foi  the  new  countries,  nor  did  he  stop  his 
flight  till  far  beyond  the  Mohawk,  where  he  ventured 
to  settle  down  in  obscurity,  hiding  himself  until  he 
ascertained  there  was  no  danger  of  pursuit ;  he  then 
sent  and  removed  his  family,  where  they  passed  their 
days. 

It  was  indeed  true  that  the  unfortunate  being  that 
expiated  his  offences  against  human  law,  on,  the  suc 
ceeding  day,  although  he  protested  his  innocence  of 
the  crime  for  which  he  suffered,  acknowledged  the 
justice  of  his  punishment,  because  he  had  once  been 
bribed  to  shed  human  blood.  He  gave  a  circum 
stantial  account  of  the  contract  between  himself  and 

old  Doctor ,  who  instructed  him  "  to  take  a 

solemn  oath  of  Doctor  Willard  to  quit  that  part  of 
the  country,  and  in  case  of  refusal  to  murder  him." 

Doctor  Willard  resolved  to  see  Wilson  himself, 
on  the  succeeding  day,  previous  to  his  execution. 
But  the  small  remnant  of  time  left  the  unhappy 
culprit,  was  fully  occupied,  and  he  found  it  impossi 
ble,  unless  he  crowded  the  subject  between  him 
and  eternity,  and  he  concluded  to  desist. 

It  has  been  said  that  Wilson  was  innocent  of  the 
crime  for  which  he  died  ; — but  be  that  as  it  may,  he 
was  certainly  guilty  of  murder  in  intention,  and  he 
in  view  of  that,  acknowledged  his  sentence  to  be  just. 

Old  Doctor  W lived  many  years  in  the 

Western  country,  a  most  unhappy  man,  and  was  at 


A.VD    REVOLUTIONARY.  181 

length  found  dead  in  his  bed,  leaving  his  friends,  (if 
he  had  any)  in  utter  ignorance  of  his  state  of  prepara 
tion  for  an  exchange  of  worlds. 

Doctor  Willard  also  lived  many  years  after  this 
event,  and  never  mentioned  this  story,  without  ex 
pressing  his  perfect  forgiveness  of  th«  author  of  this 
horrid  conspiracy,  and  his  agents,  one  of  whom  has 
since  corroborated  the  story  of  Wilson,  and  made 
full  confession  of  his  own  share  in  the  premeditated 
guilt.  This  man  has  now  found  a  refuge  among  the 
Shakers,  and  it  is  hoped  is  a  sincere  penitent. 

The  old  Thayer  Tavern,  as  it  was  called,  where 
a  part  of  the  scenes  here  delineated  took  place,  con 
tinued  to  stand  many  years,  and  even  long  after 
it  ceased  to  be  inhabited  ;  and  often  has  the  passing 
traveller,  as  he  viewed  the  skeleton  of  a  house,  depri 
ved  of  doors  and  windows,  and  exhibiting  an  inside 
of  black  beams,  low  rooms,  broad  chimnies,  clumsy 
stairways,  &c.  &c.  arranged  with  most  ingenious  con 
fusion,  pointed  to  the  once  famed  head  quarters  of 
good  cheer,  and  related  the  scene  of  distraction  that 
took  place  there,  on  the  eve  of  an  execution.  All 
traces  of  a  place  which  called  up  such  an  interesting 
association  are  now  vanished,  to  the  credit  of  the 
town;  the  dismantled  habitation,  which  so  long 
seemed  to  bid  defiance  to  the  exterminating  spirit  of 
improvement,  has  been  levelled  with  the  dust,  and  the 
spot  where  so  many  fierce  fires  have  been  kindled, 
is  now  by  way  of  contrast  occupied  by  a  Fir« 
Engine  Company. 


TALE    FIFTH. 


L.OYAL.TY.* 

"  And  are  there  in  this  free  born  land 
"  Among  ourselves  a  venial  band, 
"  A  dastard  race  who  long  have  sold, 
"  Their  souls  and  consciences  for  gold?     - 
"Whom  following  down  the  stream  of  fate, 
"  Contempts  ineffable  await ; 
"  And  public  infamy  forlorn, 
"Dread  hate  and  everlasting  scorn." 

AMONG  the  patriotic  spirits  of  '76  who  risked  their 
lives  and  fortunes  in  defence  of  their  country,  we  now 
and  then  stumble  upon  a  character  so  diametrically 
opposite  to  those  brave  and  daring  defenders  of  the 
soil,  as  to  cause  a  blush  for  human  nature.  Mixed 
up  together  as  was  the  heterogeneous  population  of  the 
States,  it  was  difficult  at  first  to  distinguish  the  friends 
and  foes  of  liberty.  When  the  trumpet  of  freedom 
first  proclaimed  that  these  United  States  were  and  of 
right  ought  to  be  "  free,  sovereign  and  independent," 
though  the  shrill  blast  was  heard  throughout  the  vast 

*  The  principal  facts  of  this  story  were  communicated 
to  the  Author  by  a  native  of  the  Island  of  Barbadoes. 


JLND    REVOLUTION  ARV.  183 

extent  of  our  country,  it  was  not  all  the  friends  of  lib 
erty  that  rallied  at  the  sound.  Alas  !  among  the  har 
dy  band  who  pressed  foremost  in  the  race,  there  were 
some  who  were  actuated  by  the  vilest  passions  and 
motives,  that  human  beings  can  be  governed  by ;  and 
who,  disappointed  in  the  ambition  of  their  souls,  even 
after  putting  their  hands  to  the  plow,  looked  back 
with  regret,  and  improved  the  first  favorable  oppor 
tunity  to  throw  off  their  allegiance  to  the  best  of 
causes,  and  inflict  one  more  wound  on  their  bleeding 
country. 

That  the  spirit  discovered  by  the  refuges,  was 
even  more  hostile  than  that  of  the  natural  born  sub 
jects  of  Great  Britain,  has,  I  believe,  never  been  dis 
puted.  Nothing  could  equal  their  zeal  in  the  cause 
of  loyalty, — of  cruelty  and  revenge,  except  the  bar 
barous  spirit  of  the  northern  and  western  tribes  of 
native  Indians,  their  friends  and  allies.  Witness  the 
dreadful  slaughter  of  the  villages  of  Wyoming,  which 
the  bard  who  sung  the  sorrows  of  Gertrude  so  pa 
thetically  deplores,  and  which  has  in  many  countries 
been  considered  as  apathetic  fiction;  Avhile  in  reality, 
the  tale  of  woe — of  wrongs  and  sorrow,  was  but  half 
told ;  half  do  I  say,  the  twentieth  part  was  not  told; 
and  may  it  still  remain  so ;  the  person  who  could 
bring  himself  to  gaze  unmoved  for  a  moment  upon 
the  exterminating  war  carried  on  in  those  villages  by 
the  horde  of  savage  barbarians,  leagued  with  a  com 
pany  of  refugees,  disguised  as  Indians — the  person 
who  even  can  endure  to  look  calmly  into  such  a  his 
tory,  is  in  danger  of  becoming  a  worse  man. 

The  same  spirit,  though  not  exercised  in  the  same 
degree,  displayed  itself  in  Boston,  Newport,  New- 
York,  Charleston  and  Savannah.  The  wretch,  who 
is  the  subject  of  the  present  memoir,  was  a  native  of 


184 


TALES NATIONAL 


the  former  place.  His  parents  were  English — his 

name ,  it  ought  to  be  given,  but  the  circumstance 

of  some  of  his  descendants  being  now  living  in  this 
country,  and  even  in  this  vicinity,  prevents.  His  name 
was  one  which  he  often  boasted  ranked  high  in  the 
book  of  heraldry.  At  the  time  Boston  was  in  pos 
session  of  the  British,  this  man  feigned  himself  a  pat- 
riot,  though  his  motives  and  principles  were  well 
known  to  the  enemy.  He  had  contrived  to  make 
known  to  some  of  the  American  army,  the  situation 
of  many  of  the  distressed  families  of  Boston,  and  had 
agreed  upon  a  method  of  receiving  provisions  from 
some  without,  for  their  friends  within.  For  a  long 
time  it  was  supposed  these  families  were  supplied, 
until  it  was  at  length  discovered  by  a  deserter  from 
the  British  camp,  that  the  provisions  were  regularly 
conveyed  to  the  quarters  of  the  General,  and  furnish 
ed  a  standing  joke  to  that  would-be  wit,  who  used  to 
compare  his  table,  to  that  in  the  "Arabian  Nights 
Entertainment,"  where  a  blow  from  the  foot  would 
call  up  a  host  of  waiters  and  provisions,  from  some 
unknown  region. 

It  seems  that  Major ,  for  that  was  his  title,  by 

some  means  or  other  discovered  he  was  unmasked, 
and  warned  by  what  had  already  taken  place,  resolv 
ed  upon  the  pulling  up  of  stakes,  to  quit  the  ground. 
He  accordingly  departed  with  the  British,  leaving  a 
handsome  estate  in  Boston  to  his  injured  countrymen, 
after  having  demolished  every  thing  about  it  of  an  or 
namental  kind.  He  went  to  Halifax,  but  afterwards 
returned  to  New-York,  in  order,  as  was  supposed,  to 
mend  his  fortune  by  another  effort  to  pillage  his  coun 
trymen. 

The  oldest  daughter  of  the  Major  was  distinguish 
ed  by  the  superior  beauty  of  her  person,  and  a  spirit 


AND     REVOLUTIONARY.  185 

and  temper  of  great  vivacity.  Notwithstanding  the 
ambitious  views  of  her  father,  of  which  she  was' fully 
aware,  she  had  bestowed  her  regards  upon  a  young 
mechanic  in  the  neighborhood.  This  young  man,  a 
carpenter,  had  first  seen  Alicia,  while  employed 
about  her  father's  house.  His  remarkable  fine  person 
had  often  attracted  her  attention,  while  observing  him, 
from  her  window,  and  merely  from  curiosity  to  see 
whether  his  mind  was  equal  to  his  person,  she  and 
her  sister  Sarah,  used  to  stroll  through  the  rooms 
where  he  was  at  work,  and  stop  and  chat  with  him. 
Hour  after  hour  used  to  be  spent  in  this  manner, 
without  any  one  ever  dreaming  of  her  danger,  except 
Sarah,  who  with  all  the  romantic  fervor  of  youth, 
protested  if  she  were  Alicia  she  would  love  whom  she 
pleased. 

The  mother-in-law  of  these  young  ladies,  was  a 
woman  of  dissipated  habits.  Young,  gay  and  beau 
tiful,  she  left  her  daughters  almost  entirely  to  the 
care  of  attendants,  while  she  herself  was  engaged  in 
a  round  of  pleasures,  rather  choosing  to  keep  them  in 
the  back  ground. 

The  attachment  of  Alicia  to  the  young  mechanic 
commenced  in  Boston  just  before  the  war,  and  as  soon 
as  discovered  by  her  father,  was  violently  opposed. 
But  being  influenced  by  her  artful  mother-in-la^ , 
who  wished  to  get  rid  of  her,  he  at  length  dropped 
his  opposition,  and  although  the  carpenter  did  not 
visit  in  the  family  openly,  yet  a  correspondence  was 
silently  carried  on,  and  preparations  making  for  thfc 
nuptials,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  war.  That  everu 
decided  the  fate  of  his  unfortunate  daughter.  Th*, 
father  was  a  loyalist,  though  he  did  not  reveal  his 
sentiments  openly,  until  the  evacuation  of  Boston 
Previous  to  that  event,  however,  the  character  of  the 
Q* 


186  TALES — NATION  At 

Major's  young  wife  had  become  so  notorious,  in  con 
sequence  of  her  flirtations  with  some  of  the  British 
officers,  as  to  make  the  daughters  more  unhappy. 
The  Major  apparently,  would  give  no  credit  to  the 
reports  of  his  wife's  gallantries — but  there  was  in 
reality,  no  question  of  his  belief  in  their  truth,  and 
the  gossip  of  that  day,  did  not  hesitate  to-charge  hin> 
with  being  a  party  to  his  own  dishonor.  That  he 
would  sell  his  soul  for  gain,  no  one  doubted.  Sto 
ries  have  been  told  of  the  enormities  of  this  man, 
that  would  challenge  belief,  were  there  not  facts  of 
equal  enormity  publicly  known  of  him  at  the  period 
ot  which  we  are  speaking.  A  complete  description 
of  his  character  exceeds  the  writer's  powers,  but  if 
the  reader  will  turn  to  the  history  of  Anthony  Foster 
in  Kennelworth,  they  will  there  have  a  perfect  de 
scription  of  him,  drawn  by  a  master's  hand. 

The  young  carpenter,  whom  we  shall  call  Charles 
James,  that  being  not  very  far  from  his  real  name, 
was  a  patriot  in  his  country's  cause.  Love  had  shut 
him  up  in-Boston,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  in  the 
field.  Alas  !  his  care  of  the  beloved  object  was  un 
availing.  The  father  of  Alicia  had  decreed  to  tear 
her  from  her  lover's  arms,  and  make  her  the  compan 
ion  of  his  voyage.  The  political  opinions  of  Charles 
were  the  cause  alleged ;  but  in  reality,  his  daughter 
had  excited  Ihe  admiration  of  one  of  the  British  offi 
cers,  who  had  made  proposals  for  her  hand.  Charles 
was  not  apprized  of  that  circumstance,  for  obvious 
reasons ;  but  his  distraction  at  finding  his  affianced 
wife  about  to  be  torn  from  him,  may  be  imagined. 
The  loyalists  were  already  debarking,  when  he  suc 
ceeded  in  passing  the  lines,  and  finding  the  way  to 
the  commanding  officer  without,  but  little  persuasion 
was  necessary  to  obtain  a  permit  to  stop  his  betroth- 


AND    REVOLUTION  ART.  187 

ed  wife.  The  order  for  her  detention  stated,  that 
"  no  person  would  be  permittsd  to  be  forced  away." 
The  lover  hastened  back,  but  the  object  of  his  solici 
tude,  was  not  to  be  found.  Distracted,  he  flew  from 
place  to  place.  The  transport,  destined  for  the  con 
veyance  of  her  father's  family,  had  no  such  person  on 
board.  The  live  long  day,  and  all  that  night  was 
spent  in  fruitless  endeavors  to  discover  the  place  of 
her  concealment.  The  transport  sailed  in  the 
course  of  that  day,  where  Alicia  was  smuggled  on 
board;  and  on  the  next  the  American  army  marched 
into  the  town.  On  that  day,  Charles  was  insensible 
to  passing  events,  being  seized  with  a  violent  fever, 
and  perfectly  delirious. 

The  friends  of  Charles  James,  endeavored  to  make 
him  forget  his  loss,  in  zeal  for  his  suffering  country, 
as  they  judged  Alicia  lost  to  him  forever.  They  for 
bore  upon  his  recovery,  to  mention  her,  and  by  de 
grees  the  lover  became  calm,  and  finally  enlisted  un 
der  the  standard  of  freedom.  He  was  an  inferior 
officer  in  our  army,  and  his  single  arm  alone  perform 
ed  wonders.  Fear  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  re 
venge  nerved  him  to  double  daring. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  family  of  the  Major  safely 
sped  their  way  to  Halifax;  ftom  this  place,  they  at 
length  were  summoned  to  New -York,  then  in  pos 
session  of  the  British,  by  the  officer  attached  to 
Alicia,  who  was  obliged  to  be  at  t^at  station,  and  de 
sirous  to  consummate  the  marriage.  The  Major 
removed  with  his  family,  and  safely  arrived  with  some 
troops,  sent  to  the  relief  of  that  place,  carrying  with 
him  the  unsuspecting  Alicia.  In  New-York,  a  scene 
awaited  that  gentle  girl,  distressing  beyond  descrip 
tion.  Captain was  a  constant  visitor — al 
most  an  inmate  in  the  family  ;  and  had  assumed 


188  TALES NATIONAL 

towards  her  a  bold  and  libertine  air,  disgusting  and  ter 
rifying  in  the  extreme.  The  mother-in-law  of  Alicia 
and  Sarah,  still  continued  her  gallantries,  even  under 
the  eyes  of  her -distressed  daughters.  Their  father 
was  absent  a  great  deal,  being  busily  engaged  in  aid 
ing  the  scouting  parties  who  were  harrassing  and  pil 
laging  the  miserable  inhabitants  of  New-Jersey. 
Plunder  was  his  aim,  and  his  business — and  it  was 
believed  that  he  was  successful  beyond  most  of  his 
compeers. 

Alicia  had  thrown  herself  with  desperate  resolu 
tion  upon  the  mercy  of  Capt.  .  She  had  even 

knelt  to  him,  and  entreated  him  to  resign  her,  frankly 
avowing  her  preference  to  another,  and  that  other  so 
vastly  inferior  in  point  of  station  and  education,  that 
she  judged  his  pride  would  be  aroused  to  renounce 
her.  Alas  !  the  love  that  he  felt,  was  not  at  all  les 
sened  by  the  knowledge,  that  her  affections  were  pos 
sessed  by  another ;  he  laughed  at  her  pretty  reluc 
tance,  as  he  was  pleased  to  call  it,  and  the  romantic 
notion  of  love  in  a  cottage,  and  persevered  in  his  suit, 
with  a  boldness  and  assurance  that  proclaimed  his 
determination  of  success. 

In  the  midst  of  Alicia's  distress,  occasioned  by  the 
failure  of  her  application  to  her  lover's  sense  of  hon 
or,  the  Major  returned  from  one  of  his  predatory  ex 
cursions  in  New-Jersey.  He  had  not  been  as  suc 
cessful  on  this  occasion  as  usual,  and  the  disappoint 
ment  had  added  to  his  ever  fierce  and  vindictive 
temper.  The  hapless  Alicia  was  a  fit  subject  for 
the  indulgence  of  it.  He  had  found  her  in  tears — 
and  that  was  sufficient  to  kindle  his  wrath.  But 
when  his  miserable  child  informed  him  of  the  cause 
of  it — and  conjured  him  on  her  knees  not  to  insist 
upon  her  ratifying  the  contract  he  had  made  with 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY. 


189 


Capt.  ;  his  wrath  knew  no  bounds.  He  re 
proached  her  with  being  ungrateful  to  her  father,  who 
was  daily  risking  his  life  for  the  support  of  his  chil 
dren,  and  swore  that  she  should  become  the  wife  of 

Capt. ,  within    four  and  twenty    hours,  or  he 

would  burn  up  his  house  that  night  with  himself  and 
all  his  family  in  it.  The  dreadful  conflagration  which 
had  consumed  nearly  one  fourth  of  the  city  had  just 
occurred,  and  Alicia  shuddered  with  horror,  when  she 
recollected  it.  She  sunk  into  a  chair,  in  a  state  of 
mind  little  short  of  distraction.  Capt. en 
tered  at  that  moment.  Turning  to  him,  the  Major 
asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  have  his  nuptials  sol 
emnized  that  evening.  Nothing  could  have  pleased 
the  Captain  better ;  his  pride  and  resentment  both 
urged  him  to  revenge  himself  upon  the  hapless  vic 
tim  of  a  father's  cupidity.  Joyfully  he  assented,  and 
the  wretched  Alicia  was  sternly  commanded  to  make 
herself  ready  for  the  celebration.  The  Chaplain  was 
sent  for,  and  Alicia  led  forth  in  triumph  by  her 
worthless  father.  Stunned  by  the  blow  which  mur 
dered  all  her  hopes,  the  miserable  girl  had  perforce 
dropt  all  opposition;  and  seeing  no  way  of  escape, 
was  now  endeavoring  to  support  her  part  with  calm 
ness.  Poor  Alicia!  despair  had  paralized  her  facul 
ties  of  mind,  or  she  might  have  seen  there  was  even 
now  one  chance  of  escape. 

The  venerable  Chaplain  was  a  most  benevolent 
and  amiable  being — and  had  she,  when  the  searching 
interrogatory  in  the  service  of  the  Church  of  England 
was  read,  "if  either  of  you  know  of  any  just  cause  or 
reason  why  you  should  not  be  joined  together  in  holy 
matrimony,"  &c. — had  she  resolutely  declared  herob 
jections,  and  her  abhorrence  of  the  match,  the  man  ol 
God  v.ould  never  have  united  them;  more  than  that-, 


190  TALES NATIONAL 

he  would  have  rescued  her;  but  to  seek  a  refuge  by 
clinging  "  to  the  horns  of  the  altar,"  was  something 
that  never  entered  her  head.  In  fact,  she  listened  to 
the  service  from  the  lips  of  the  holy  man,  with  a  de 
gree  of  apathy,  which  could  only  have  been  the  effect 
of  perfect  despair. 

The  clergyman,  who  knew  the  character  of  the 
mother,  had  formed  rather  an  unfavorable  opinion  of 
the  females  of  the  family.  He  did  not  therefore,  be 
stow  much  observation  upon  the  youthful  bride,  and 
resisted  all  invitation  to  stay  after  the  service  and 
partake  of  the  customary  refreshment. 

The  Captain  immediately  removed  his  wife  to  his 
quarters — where  the  society  of  the  officers  and  their 
wives  he  thought  would  have  a  tendency  to  draw  her 
from  the  deep  melancholly  that  clouded  her  beautiful 
features.  The  Captain  was  proud  of  his  wife's  beau 
ty,  and  took  care  she  should  be  seen  dressed  in  a 
style  which  displayed  her  charms  to  advantage.  He 
was  not  such  a  savage  after  all,  as  to  be  insensible  to 
the  gentle  virtues  of  his  bride ;  she  strove  to  be  cheer 
ful,  to  be  submissive  ;  in  short,  to  perform  all  the  du 
ties  which  Providence  seemed  now  to  lay  upon  her. 
But  she  could  not  love  her  husband;  she  could  not 
but  despise  him,  and  there  was  another  pang  too,  at 
tending  her  situation,  which  added  materially  to  her 
misery;  the  hand  that  so  often  clasped  hers,  was 
stained  with  the  blood  of  her  countrymen  ;  the  deli 
cacies  that  loaded  her  table,  she  knew  were  torn  from 
the  sui&ring  families  around,  who,  for  aught  she 
knew,  might  be  famishing  now  for  those  very  com 
forts.  Her  ears  were  daily  shocked  with  conversa 
tion,  that  caused  her  blood  to  curdle  with  horror. 
She  was  often  compelled  to  hear  plans  discussed,  to 
surprise,  plunder  and  murder  those  for  whom  she 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  191 

could  nor  lift  a  finger — whom  she  would  have  given 
worlds  to  have  apprized  of  their  danger — and  be 
tween  the  planning  and  the  acting  of  those  dreadful 
scenes,  which  were  daily  taking  place  in  New-Jersey 
and  its  neighborhood,  her  mind  would  often  be  in  i 
state  little  short  of  delirium. 

The  scandalous  conduct  of  her  mother-in-law  was 
frequently  discussed  over  before  her,  and  the  tor 
menting  thought  of  the  danger  to  which  poor  Sarah 
would  now  be  exposed,  was  not  without  its  share  in 
giving  her  uneasiness.  That  dear  sister  was  permit 
ted  to  visit  her  but  seldom,  her  father  alleging  that  an 
officer's  quarters  were  not  a  suitable  place  for  so  young 
a  girl. 

The  feelings  of  Alicia  were  at  length,  in  a  measure 
turned  into  another  channel  by  the  birth  of  a  little 
daughter.  This  event  was  at  first  very  pleasing  to 
her  husband,  but  at  length,  he  became  wearied  of  the 
dull  monotony  of  his  house,  where  his  wife  now  de 
voted  herself  exclusively  to  her  child.  He  was  how 
ever,  very  fond  of  the  infant,  which  was  a  beautiful 
and  interesting  child.  The  happiness  derived  from 
the  society  of  her  darling  babe,  was  however,  destined 
to  sutler  interruption  when  it  was  about  one  year 
old. 

A  party  of  American  prisoners  had  been  brought 
to  New- York,  and  stationed  for  a  few  days  in  a  neigh 
boring  barrack,  from  whence,  they  were  to  be  re 
moved  to  the  prison-ship  of  the  hated  "Jersey." 
On  the  morning  of  their  arrival,  her  husband  inform 
ed  her  that  there  was  one  among  the  prisoners  he 
should  detain,  being  in  want  of  a  carpenter  to  make 
some  alterations  and  repairs  in  their  dwelling ;  at  the 
same  time  telling  her  he  meant  to  open  his  house  for 
company  again  in  new  style,  and  she  must  direct  the 


19.2  TALES NATIONAL 

young  man  about  constructing  an  elegant  drawing 
room.  This  Alicia  promised,  heaving  a  sigh  to  think 
she  was  about  to  be  dragged  into  the  world  again — 
but  upon  going  down  to  see  the  young  man  some 
hours  after  the  departure  of  her  husband,  Alicia  dis 
covered  her  long-lost  Charles.  Fortunately  no  wit 
nesses  were  by,  and  the  overpowering  emotions  of 
the  distressed  couple,  thus  meeting  by  surprise,  were 
unseen. 

The  long  tale  of  outrage  and  oppression  was  poured 
into  the  lover's  ears,  and  of  course  found  all  sympathy 
in  his  still  devoted  heart. 

We  dare  not  follow  the  young  couple  through  the 
conversation  of  that  and  many  succeeding  days.  The 
arguments  by  which  he  established  his  theory  in  her 
mind,  we  do  not  wish  to  repeat.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  Charles  James  prevailed  on  Alicia  to  consider 
her  marriage  with  the  father  of  her  child  as  illegal  in 
the  sight  of  Heaven — that  he  persuaded  her  to  elope 
with  him  in  order  to  become  his  wife,  offering  to 
rear  her  child  as  his  own,  and  become  a  second  fa 
ther  to  it — and  that  ere  the  return  of  her  husband,  he 
had  secured  a  boat  at  a  neighboring  wharf,  under  the 
pretence  of  conveying  lumber  in  it — and  in  short,  that 
all  the  measures  were  concerted  between  them  fen  a 
speedy  removal. 

The  gradation  from  the  theory  to  the  practice  of 
vice  is  easy.  It  will  not  therefore,  surprise  us,  that 
the  conduct  of  these  young  persons  should  correspond 
with  their  resolutions.  By  what  sophistry  the  mind 
of  the  noble  and  intelligent  Alicia  could  have  been 
thus  warped,  we  cannot  tell.  She  was  ignorant  then 
of  that  religion,  whose  seat  is  in  the  heart ;  she  did 
not  once  reflect,  that  if  she  would  wait  patiently, 
Providence  might  open  a  way  for  her,  or  render  her 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  19 

Chains  more  easy.  Blinded  by  passion,  exasperated 
by  oppression,  and  enervated  by  the  contamination  of 
the  loose  company  who  were  generally,  and  necessari 
ly  her  associates,  since  her  marriage,  she  yielded  to 
the  arguments  of  a  passionate  young  man  of  five  and 
twenty,  almost  without  a  struggle. 

The  time  of  flight  was  to  be  on  the  next  day,  when 
the  husband  was  again  to  be  absent.  He  had  return 
ed  the  day  before,  and  was  preparing  to  depart  on 
another  excursion — but  the  struggle  in  the  mind  of 
his  wife  had  communicated  a  something  of  confusion 
to  her  manner ;  he  saw  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  instead  therefore  of  going,  he  only  affected  to  go 
and  concealed  himself  in  the  house.  Here  he  was 
the  witness  to  a  conversation  that  solved  all  doubts — 
and  rushing  from  the  place  of  his  concealment,  he 
stood  before  the  guilty  pair,  just  as  Charles  was  wip 
ing  the  tears  from  the  cheek  of  Alicia,  and  kissing 
away  their  traces.  Alas!  she  was  destined  to  shed 
more  bitter  tears  than  these. 

The  first  motion  that  Capt. ,  made,  was  to 

snatch  the  child  from  the  cradle,  saying, 

"  Madam,  you  behold  this  babe  for  the  last  time;" 
then  turning  to  a  servant  who  just  entered  the  room, 
he  exclaimed,  "see  that  you  keep  these  people  pris 
oners  until  my  return;"  he  darted  out  of  the  house 
with  the  child. 

"  Permit  me  to  lead  her  out  to  the  air,"  said 
Charles,  in  a  voice  of  anguish,  as  he  lifted  the  hap 
less  mother  from  the  floor,  where  she  had  sunk  down  in 
a  swoon.  The  servants,  though  forbid  to  let  them  es 
cape,  made  no  resistance,  while  he  raised  her  and 
bore  her  to  the  garden — but  turned,  and  some  run  one 
way  and  some  another  for  restoratives — while  Charlei 
bore  the  unconscious  Alicia  to  the  foot  of  the  garden, 

* 


194  TALES NATIONAL 

where  the  boat  was  moored,  concealed  by  a  willow, 
whose  pendant  branches  hung  far  into  the  water — he 
hastily  concealed  Alicia,  who  now  began  to  shew 
signs  of  life,  and  clapping  on  an  old  flapped  hat,  and 
over-coat,  which  he  had  purposely  concealed,  he  quick 
ly  pushed  for  the  next  garden,  which  terminated  in  a 
kind  of  wharf.  In  the  mean  time,  the  two  old  ser 
vants  of  the  house  had  got  to  the  foot  of  the  garden, 
loaded  with  restoratives  of  all  sorts,  and  behold,  the 
couple  had  vanished.  The  thought  immediately 
struck  them  that  they  were  both  drowned,  and  for 
the  first  time,  they  seemed  to  understand  ^something 
of  the  case ;  and  concluded,  the  young  man  had  jump 
ed  into  the  river  with  Alicia  in  his  arms.  Shrieking, 
they  ran  back  to  the  house,  and  meeting  their  master 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  they  communicated  the 
intelligence  that  they  had  both  jumped  into  the 
river. 

The  Captain  fell  back  into  the  arms  of  one  of  the 
attendants,  while  the  shrieks  of  the  terrified  domes 
tics  raised  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighboring  houses 
The  river  was  dragged,  but  as  the  current  ran  very 
strong  in  that  place,  there  was  no  doubt  in  the  mind 
of  any  one  that  they  had  floated  down  the  stream. 

In  the  mean  time,  favored  by  this  supposition, 
Charles  was  enabled  to  arrive  safe  at  Long  Island, 
where  he  had  a  friend  even  among  the  royalists,  who 
he  felt  assured  would  succour  them.  From  there, 
they  escaped  to  Connecticut,  and  were  in  a  short 
time  settled  in  New-London,  in  a  comfortable 
house. 

And  was  Alicia  happy  now  1  we  naturally  ask. 
Alas,  she  was  most  wretched ;  her  child,  her  beloved 
little  girl,  was  forever  separated  from  her,  and  sepa 
rated  by  her  mother's  guilt.  It  was  in  vain,  that  her 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  195 

lover  sought  lo  comfort  her — her  soul  yearned  for  her 
child,  and  she  found  the  truth  of  the  assertion,  that  no 
love  is  like  that  of  a  mother  to  her  offspring.  Miser 
able  as  this  state  was,  it  was  felicity  to  what  she 
was  destined  to  endure. 

The  atrocities  committed  on  the  hapless  town  of 
New  London  by  the  British,  under  the  direction  of 
the  infamous  Benedict  Arnold — are  well  remember 
ed.  Upon  the  first  alarm,  a  few  brave  souls  had  put 
themselves  under  the  conduct  of  Charles,  resolved  to 
stand  by  their  hearths — and  Charles'  wife  would  not 
leave  the  place  when  he,  whom  she  now  considered 
as  her  husband,  was  exposed.  Alas  !  the  gang  who 
committed  the  most  shocking  enormities,  were  head 
ed  by  the  Major  in  person,  and  it  was  to  shield  her 
beloved  Charles  from  the  sword  of  her  father,  that 
the  wretched  Alicia  threw  herself  before  him.  In 
vain,  the  shield  of  her  arms — in  vain  her  feeble  voice, 
although  her  father  had  for  some  time  thought  her 
dead.  The  sight  of  her  living,  only  served  to  exas 
perate  him,  and  plunging  his  sword  repeatedly  in 
Charles'  bosom,  he  vented  the  most  shocking  epithets 
he  could  think  of. 

The  conflagration  raged  around — Alicia  saw  it 
not — the  clash  of  arms  was  loud  in  the  street  below  ; 
she  heard  it  not,  nor  the  shrieks  and  wailing  of  the 
distressed,  bereaved  and  insulted  females,  who  in 
this  scene  of  confusion  and  death,  were  hunted  from 
house  to  house.  Beneath  the  dead  body  of  her 
Charles,  whose  spirit  had  fled  to  other  regions — she 
remained  insensible  to  all  around — but  safe  at  least 
from  insult.  Several  had  looked  into  the  room,  and 
beholding  her  pale  countenance,  and  clothes  drench 
ed  with  blood,  thought  her  dead — until  upon  the  re 
treat  of  the  enemy,  some  of  her  neighbor*  had  ventur- 


196  TALES — NATIONAL 

ed  to  look  into  the  house,  creeping  from  their  hiding 
places — and  observing  the  house  had  caught  fire,  by 
some  sparks  lighting  on  the  roof,  although  it  was  not 
very  near  the  burning  buildings — these  persons,  two 
men,  just,  looked  into  the  house  to  see  if  any  thing  re 
mained  worth  saving,  and  seeing  the  condition  of  the 
lovers,  lifted  them  up,  and  discovered  that  Alicia 
breathed,  though  the  other  was  cold  and  stiff.  They 
dragged  her  out,  and  conveyed  her  to  a  place  of  safe 
ty  ;  just  as  they  got  to  the  outside  door,  the  unfortu 
nate  woman  came  to  her  recollection — and  asked  if 
the  body  of  Charles  remained  behind"?  She  was 
answered  in  the  affirmative, — she  begged  he  might  be 
taken  out — but  the  flames  progressed  so  rapidly,  it 
was  impossible,  and  she  had  the  anguish  of  seeing 
the  house  consumed  with  the  body  in  it. 

The  morning  soon  saw  the  return  of  the  destitute 
inhabitants  to  their  ruined  abodes — the  voice  of  wail 
ing  and  lamentation  was  heard  on  every  side.  There 
was  one  who  could  sympathize  with  tnem,  but  had 
none  to  comfort  her.  She  was  now  deprived  of  her 
all,  and  knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  even  for  bread; 
for  some  weeks  she  subsisted  upon  the  charity  of  her 
neighbors — at  length,  feeling  some  exertion  necessa 
ry,  she  determined  upon  going  to  Cambridge,  Mass, 
where  she  had  an  aunt  still  living,  as  she  believed, 
who  had  always  loved  her  with  tender  affection. 

Long  and  dismal  was  the  journey — supported  as 
she  was  all  the  way  by  charity ;  sometimes  slighted 
as  a  person  who  could  not  be  much,  travelling  thus 
alone,  and  sometimes  pitied  for  her  youth,  ill-health, 
and  the  look  of  resigned  anguish  her  countenance 
expressed.  Arrived  at  Cambridge,  her  aunt  was  dead, 
she  left  no  children,  her  property  was  gone  to  a  dis 
tant  relative.  What  should  she  do  7  "I  will  go,  at 


REVOLUTIONARY.  197 

length,"  said  she,  "  to  the  parents  of  my  beloved 
Charles,  I  will  confess  my  errors  and  throw  myself 
upon  their  protection." 

The  resolution  was  a  wise  one :  she  found  the  wor 
thy  old  couple,  at  their  former  humble  place  of 
abode,  and  was  received  as  a  long-lost  child ;  if 
prayers  or  kindest  attentions  could  have  saved  the 
life  of  Alicia,  her  days  would  have  been  prolonged 
under  that  hospitable  roof ;  but  it  was  not  to  be — 
she  lived  only  a  few  months  after  her  arrival  ;  her 
death  was  a  happy  one  to  herself.  The  parents  of 
Charles  were  truly  pious,  though  humble  persons, 
and  the  religion  of  the  Gospel  was  the  support  of 
Alicia  in  her  dying  moments. 

The  old  couple  buried  her  as  their  son's  wife, 
and  as  her  parents  had  once  had  a  place  of  interment 
near  the  Stone  Chapel,  the  remains  of  Alicia  were 

admitted  there. 

*#*### 

In  the  year  1815,  a  beautiful  woman,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  an  English  gentleman,  whom  she 
called  her  husband,  alighted  near  the  Chapel,  of  a 
Sunday  morning,  and  calling  the  sexton,  desired 

to  be   shewn   the  place  where  the  L family 

were  intered.  She  was  shewn  a  tomb,  then  closed  up, 
before  which  she  knelt  apparently  in  supplication, 
then  rising,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh  my  beloved  mother, 
your  own  Alicia  has  at  length  been  permitted  to 
tisit  your  grave;  for  this  she  has  traversed  land 
and  seas.  My  mother,  Oh  my  mother!"  As  she 
ascended  the  carriage,  turning  back  with  tearful 
«yes,  she  attracted  the  attention  of  an  aged  man, 
stood  near  the  door  of  the  Chapel,  leaning  on  his  staff. 
"  That  '.voman/'  said  the  venerable  looking  old  man, 
must  be  a  descendant  of  the  L family,  jus 


198  TALES NATIONAL 

their  step,  just  their  look,  who  can  she  be  that  calls 
up  the  remembrance  of  that  exiled  race  1 " 

Would  that  the  story  of  that  unfortunate  family 
that  has  come  to  our  knowledge,  could  end  here ; 
could  we  say  that  the  ruin  of  one  daughter,  the 
destruction  of  one  child,  could  have  sufficed  the 
parent,  who  doomed  his  household  to  be  all  included 
as  victims  on  the  altar  of  avarice,  or  as  he  said,  of 
"  Loyalty." 

Sarah,  the  lovely  warm-hearted  Sarah,  was  mar 
ried  by  her  father's  command,  before  the  family  left 
New  York,  to  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father, 
disagreeable  in  person,  and  in  manners  rough,  austere 
and  disagreeable.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  supplicated 
her  inexorable  parent ;  in  vain  young  Edward,  her 
brother,  implored  his  father  not  to  sacrifice  his  whole 
race;  the  savage  parent,  who  always  flew  into  a 
passion  when  the  slightest  allusion  was  made  to  the 
lost  Alicia,  took  the  remonstrance  of  his  son  as  an 
insult,  and  would  have  no  arguments.  Sarah  was 
accordingly  married,  and  moved  to  the  West  Indies 
with  her  husband  to  a  plantation.  To  the  same 
Island  went  the  father  and  his  family,  when  New 
York  was  evacuated  by  the  British.  He  had  made 
property  by  the  spoils  of  his  countrymen,  and  he  too 
purchased  a  plantation,  and  oversaw  it  himself  ; 
having  at  last  found  an  employment  agreeable  to 
his  taste  ;  had  he  been  born  a  negro  driver,  it  might 
have  been  well  for  his  children  ;  as  it  was,  the  situa 
tion  of  the  family  was  hateful  to  his  generous  minded 
son,  and  the  cruelty,  to  which  he  was  a  daily  wit 
ness,  shocking  to  his  feelings. 

It  chanced  that  a  neighboring  planter  died,  im 
mensely  rich,  a  few  years  after  the  Major  settled 


ANJ>    REVOLUTIONARY.  199 

there,  and  left  the  settlement  of  his  business,  in  the 
hands  of  the'thriving  and  prudent  Major,  his  daughter 
sole  heiress  to  his  vast  possessions,  was  recommended 
to  his  care  likewise.  She  was  far  from  being  young, 
very  dark  in  complexion  and  immensely  fat,  yet  the 
Major  made  no  hesitation  in  trying  to  reserve  her 
for  his  young  son.  That  young  man,  who  was  as  dif 
ferent  from  his  father  as  possible,  had  formed  an 
attachment  to  a  young  orphan  in  the  neighborhood, 
whose  only  portion  was  beauty  and  sweetness  of  dis 
position.  The  arts  practiced  to  wean  his  affections 
from  this  deserving  object,  were  resorted  to  in  vain, 
until  it  was  planned,  to  infuse  the  deadly  portion  of 
jealousy  into  his  mind.  This  his  artful  mother-in-law 
was  fully  equal  to ;  the  poison  took,  and  in  a  moment 
of  madness  the  young  man  consented  to  marry  the 
wealthy  heiress,  who  united  to  a  mind  of  almost  per 
fect  imbecility,  a  person  disagieeable  in  the  extreme, 
and  was  nearly  twice  his  age. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  knot  was  tied,  that  young 
Edward  discovered  the  imposition  that  had  been 
practiced  upon  him,  and  his  disgust  to  his  father  was 
so  great,  that  he  determined  to  separate  himself  for 
ever  from  his  society.  This  resolution  was  perhaps 
strengthened  by  the  circumstance  of  Amanda's  re 
moval  to  England,  being  carried  hither  by  an  uncle 
and  aunt,  who  went  to  pass  the  remainder  of  their 
days  on  a  small  property  which  had  fallen  to  them  in 
Yorkshire. 

Edward  L sold  his  wife's  estate  and  after 

trying  various  places,  uneasy  and  unhappy  in  mind, 
at  length  located  himself  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
in  the  year  1800.  Boston  would  have  been  his  choice, 
bnt  there  he  would  have  been  constantly  reminded  of 
the  treason  of  his  father,  and  the  misfortunes  of  his 


200  TALES NATIONAL 

family.  In  New  York  these  circumstances  were  not 
known  as  having  taken  place  in  his  family ;  he  had  no 
connections  there.  That  was  his  privilege,  but  he 
soon  formed  a  circle  of  agreeable  intimates,  and  his 
house  was  the  seat  of  elegant  hospitality;  his  wife, 
though  a  weak,  was  a  perfectly  inoffensive  character, 
and  could  he  have  forgotten  old  associations  he 
might  have  been  happy  ;  but  that  was  impossible. 
Besides  he  had  no  children,  no  one  to  inherit  his  vast 
possessions,  and  that  was  a  continual  thorn  in  his 
side  ;  Providence  had  however  designed  him  a  relief, 
which  he  did  not  foresee,  in  the  sudden  death  of  his 
\vife,  who  expired  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy  ;  this  was  not 
until  ten  years  after  their  residence  in  New  York. 
She  was  no  sooner  committed  decently  to  the  earth, 
than  Edward  embarked  for  England ;  borne  on  the 
wings  of  love  and  hope,  he  arrived  there  after  a 
favorable  voyage  and  proceeded  to  Yorkshire. 

Fancy  painted  the  lovely  Amanda  as  still  in  the 
bloom  and  beauty  of  youth.  Edward  did  not  recollect 
that  more  than  twenty  years  had  elapsed,  since  he  had 
seen  her,  and  that  she  must  now  be  forty  years  old,  an 
age  at  which  few  women  retain  their  beauty,  and  few 
single  ones  their  temper.  It  is  uue  however  to  the 
person  in  question,  to  say  that  she  was  one  of  those 
few.  The  misfortunes  of  her  early  life  had  been 
sanctified  to  her  in  a  remarkable  manner;  the  peace 
of  God  had  succeeded  the  tumults  of  passion,  and 
she  had  succeded  in  rescuing  her  happiness  from  the 
grave  of  blighted  hopes. 

Edward  unhappily  was  incapable  of  estimating  the 
worth  of  Amanda's  character,  and  when  he  beheld 
the  alteration  which  time  had  made  in  her  person, 
when  he  viewed  her  pale  cheek  and  attenuated  form, 
instead  of  feeling  a  devotional  tenderness  for  her. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  201 

spite  of  himself  he  felt  a  coldness  almost  amounting 
to  disgust.  In  mind  however,  she  still  shone,  and 
Edward  was  beginning  to  entertain  different  and 
more  agreeable  feelings,  when  his  host,  most  inoppor 
tunely  led  in  his  beautiful  grand- daughter,  and  intro 
duced  her.  That  grand-daughter  was  a  striking  like 
ness  of  what  Amanda  had  once  been,  though  far 
more  beautiful. 

The  introduction  was  decisive;  Edward  was  fairly 
captivated.  Amanda  saw  it,  and  far  from  disapprov 
ing,  she  beheld  it  with  pleasure,  and  willingly  lent 
herself  to  promote  the  match,  she  felt  her  own  health 
declining,  and  wanted  no  more  ties  to  the  world. 

The  youthful  bride  of  Edward  only  became  so, 
upon  condition  of  "his  remaining  in  England;  this  he 
was  obliged  to  conform  to,  though  much  against  his 
will,  having  long  determined  to  breathe  his  last  in 
the  air  of  freedom.  The  city  of  London  was  at 
length  fixed  upon  for  their  residence,  and  hither  they 
removed.  But  many  years  before,  an  event  happened 
of  great  importance  to  this  story,  which  we  have 
omitted  to  mention,  because  we  wished  to  give  what 
we  knew  of  the  life  of  Edward  in  a  connected  story. 

It  was  but  a  very  short  time  after  the  removal  of 
Edward  to  New  York,  before  his  father  followed 
him;  he  had  once  been  exposed  to  an  insurrection  of 
his  slaves,  alter  which  he  never  enjoyed  himself  a 
moment ;  his  wife  was  now  dead ;  his  daughter  Sarah 
a  resident  with  her  disagreeable  husband  in  the 
Island  of  Jamaica,  and  the  old  man,  disposing  of  his 
property,  shipped  himself  and  the  proceeds  of  it  to 
New  York.  Old  and  infirm,  his  son  could  not  refuse 
him  an  asylum,  although  the  inheritance  of  his  great 
wealth  seemed  to  him  scarce  an  equivalent  for  the 
pain  of  seeing  him.  However  he  was  expected  and 


TALES NATIONAL 

preparations  made  for  his  arrival.  The  vessel  in 
which  he  embarked  was  supposed  to  have  foundered, 
as  she  never  arrived. 

More  than  fifteen  years  elapsed  before  the  fate  of 
that  vessel  was  ever  known.  A  gang  of  Pirates 
were  executed  in  one  of  the  British  West  India 
Islands,  whose  confessions  were  published.  Among 
other  enormities  perpetrated,  of  which  they  gave  the 
history,  the  account  of  the  murder  of  the  crew  of 
this  ship  was  one.  The  Captain  of  the  gang,  who 
affirmed  he  had  been  engaged  twenty  years  in  this 
nefarious  business — himself  gave  the  history,  and  it 
runs  nearly  as  follows.* 

"  Among  the  dreadful  deeds  which  now  haunt  my 
imagination,  and  for  which  I  am  soon  to  suffer,  there 
is  none  that  distresses  me  more  than  the  murder  of 

an  old  man,  whom  we   took  in  the  year  18 in  a 

vessel  from  the  Island  of ,  bound  to  New  York. 

This  man,  a  wealthy  planter,  had  endeavored  to 
secrete  his  money,  while  all  the  rest  readily  gave  up 
theirs.  Furious  with  rage,  I  ordered  him  before  me  ; 
he  fell  on  his  knees,  beseeching  me  for  life,  his  an 
guished  countenance,  and1  gray  hairs  streaming  in  the 
breeze,  while  his  withered  hands  were  clasped  in 
supplication,  are  yet  before  me.  I  was  inexorable, 
and  toH  him  he  must  die  ;  he  entreated  for  another 
day  to  live,  only  another  day,  and  finally  for  an  hour 
to  make  his  peace  with  God.  "  For  oh,  I  too,"  said 
he,  "  am  a  man  of  blood.  You  may  hereafter  need  the 
mercy,  you  deny  to  me.  You  are  sending  me  to 
eternity  with  the  blood  of  hundreds  on  my  head, 
of  my  own  brethren.  Oh  gold,  cursed  gold  has 

*  The  writer  of  this  story  has  endeavored  to  transcribe 
from  memory,  from  an  old  newspaper. 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  203 

been  the  ruin  of  my  soul !  for  this  I  have  sacrificed  my 
children,  and  doomed  my  soul  to  hell.  Oh  Captain, 
if  you  knew  what  a  wretch  I  am,  you  would  allow 
me  an  hour  to  repent.  I  have  murdered  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  one  even  in  my  daughter's 
arms." 

"  If  that  is  the  case"  said  I,  interrupting  him,  "  you 
richly  deserve  your  death.  Ahoy  there,  string  him 
up  to  the  yard  arm."  And  in  a  moment  the  poor 
struggling  wretch  was  swinging  in  the  air.  I  had 
designed  to  put  the  crew  on  shore,  but  after  the 
execution  of  the  planter,  was  obliged  t©  dispatch 
them  for  safety." 

Here  ends  the  confession  of  the  Pirate.  What 
effect  it  had  on  the  mind  of  his  son,  we  know  not. 
Sarah  the  youngest  daughter  has  long  been  dead, 
having  as  was  believed,  put  an  end  to  her  own  exist 
ence  in  a  state  of  meutal  derangement. 


TALE    SIXTH. 


It  has  been  the  request  of  a  number  of  subscribers 
to  this  volume,  that  the  Tale  of  "  Scott's  Pond  Thirty 
Years  ago,"  might  be  inserted,  if  there  was  room 
in  the  volume,  and  as  there  is  in  the  conclusion  just 
about  sufficient  space,  I  have  complied  with  the  re 
quest.  The  story  of  Scott's  Pond,  was  once  pub 
lished  in  the  Evening  Gazette — a  paper  edited  by 
Mr.  Samuel  M.  Fowler,  and  continued  for  a  short 
time  in  this  town.  By  mistake  or  negligence,  the 
words  "thirty  years  ago,"  were  omitted  in -the  title, 
and  some  cavilling  respecting  the  description  of 
the  place,  was  occasioned  by  that  omission — although 
common  sense  might  have  suggested  that  the  picture 
was  drawn  for  the  era  in  which  the  scene  was 
transacted. 

No  person,  it  is  true,  would  be  able  to  recognise 
Scott's  Pond  at  this  day,  by  the  description  of  it 
thirty  years  ago — nor  would  they  be  able  to  recog 
nise  Pawtucket  Falls,  or  Woonsoket — or  the  beau 
tiful  scenery  of  Fall  River — or  a  thousand  other 
places  where  the  hand  of  improvement  has  effaced 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  205 

almost  every  feature  with  which  nature  had  adorn 
ed  it. 

It  was  pardonable  however,  since  it  is  the  privilege 
of  dulness  to  find  fault  with  every  thing  which  does 
not  originate  in  its  own  territory. 

Although  the  scenes  upon  which  this  story  is  found 
ed  are  mentioned  as  having  been  transacted  thirty 
years  ago,  it  has  now  been  ascertained  that  they 
occurred  nearly  fifty  years  since.  In  mentioning 
the  tragical  scenes  which  had  been  witnessed  there, 
it  will  be  seen  there  is  an  inversion  in  the  order  of 
time,  as  all  except  one  of  the  transactions  alluded  to 
in  the  description  of  the  place,  took  place  many 
years  since  the  date  of  the  story. 

For  the  information  of  those  who  are  fond  of  ex 
amining  every  thing  to  the  bottom,  we  will  state  that 
the  team  which  passed  through  the  pond,  belonged 
to  a  gentleman  in  the  south  part  of  the  county  of 
Worcester,  by  the  name  of  Tillinghast — and  the 
story  connected  with  the  circumstance,  was  related 
rcJ  a  Person  residing  in  that  part  ot  the  country  many 
Vears  since,  in  the  hearing  of  the  writer. 

More  than  thirty  years  since,  this  person  was  ad 
miring  the  shape  and  size  of  a  pair  of  oxen  grazing 
before  the  window  of  an  Inn,  in  said  town,  and  upon, 
making  some  remark  oi  that  sort,  was  answered 


2CX5  TALKS — NATIONAL 

"  yes,  they  have  been  famous  oxen  in  their  day — for 
they  once  swam  across  Scott's  Pond,  and  brought  a 
heavy  cart  through,  to  which  they  were  yoked 
safely." 

"  Yes,"  said  a  bystander,  "and  that  accident  was 
the  occasion  of  a  love  match,"  the  facts  upon  which 
tfce  following  story  is  founded,  were  then  re 
lated. 


SCOTT'S  POND  THIRTY   YEARS  AGO. 


A    TALE. 


IN  the  northeasterly  part  of  the  town  of  Smithfield, 
near  the  great  road  leading  from  Providence  to  Wor 
cester,  and  about  five  miles  from  the  former  place.  « 
there   is  a  large   reservoir  of  water,  known  by  the  f 
name  of  Scott's  Pond.     As  you  travel  westward,  at  1 
the  turning  of  a  sharp  angle  after  traversing  a  plain 
of  about  two  miles  in  extent,  you  descend  a  precipi 
tous  hill,  by  an  exceedingly  narrow  and  sandy  path, 
whose  right  just  borders  on  the  dizzy  edge  of  the 
frightful  and  perpendicular  steep,  hanging  over  the 


REVOLUTIONARY.  207 

black  abyss  below.  No  traveller  passes  this  gpot  ait 
unconcerned  spectator  of  its  gloomy  scenery.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  apathy  itself  to  slumber 
here.  Even  the  sons  and  daughters  of  indolence, 
who  leaning  on  their  silken  cushions,  are  gently 
transported  from  place  to  place,  to  kill  time,  or  pre 
vent  a  total  stagnation  of  the  blood,  roused  from  a 
state  of  inanity  by  the  sudden  careening  of  the  car 
riage,  involuntarily  lay  hold  of  something  for  support, 
and  as  involuntarily  look  out  to  see  what  region  they 
are  descending  to.  Impressed  with  a  feeling  of 
fear  and  awe,  as  the  dark  expanse  beneath  meets 
their  view,  they  instantly  gather  their  garments  about 
them,  and  grasping  the  carriage  door,  watch  with 
breathless  attention  the  slow  and  cautious  descent  of 
the  horses,  prepared  at  the  least  symptom  ot  restive- 
ness  to  make  a  spring  for  life,  nor  freely  breathe  un 
til  passed  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  gained  the  rise  of 
the  neighboring  one.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  the 
traveller  has  leisure  to  gaze  with  a  critical  eye  upon 
the  surrounding  landscape,  where  the  genius  of  deso 
lation  seemed  to  have  fixed  his  abode. 

At  the  period  when  my  tale  commences,  there  was 
t>ut  one  house  in  sight,  and  that  was  a  small  and 
rude  Inn,  perched  like  some  rook's  nest,  upon  the  . 
very  top  of  the  hill,  but  which,  small  as  it  was,  was  of 
great  use,  especially  of  a  dark  night,  when  the  light 
from  its  windows  gleamed  across  the  water,  and  like 
the  beacon  on  the  hill -top,  or  the  far  off  watch-tow 
er,  served  to  warn  the  approaching  traveller  of  dan 
ger  or  of  death — or  to  cheer  his  way-worn  steps  by 
the  assurance  of  the  contiguity  of  man. 

On  all  sides  save  one,  the  dark  mass  of  water  was 
surrounded  by  hills  covered  .to  their  summits  by 
rtunted  forest  trees  or  shrub-oak,  (the  liveiy  em- 


208  TALES NATIONAL 

blem  and  sure  accompaniment  of  sterility,)  where 
the  screech  owl  and  other  ill-omened  birds,  had 
from  generation  to  generation,  held  their  possessions 
in  undisturbed  and  undisputed  sovereignty.  Here 
might  the  misanthrope  have  fixed  his  gloomy  habita 
tion,  secure  from  the  hated  footsteps  of  his  fellow 
men ;  here  in  one  of  the  little  creeks  that  indented 
its  western  extremity,  he  might  have  moored  a  little 
barque  as  secure  from  observation,  as  it  would  have 
been  in  the  lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp. 

It  was  not  the  natural  horrors  of  the  place  alone 
that  caused  the  sensation,  with  which  it  was  usually 
approached.  Tradition  had  heightened  the  scene  by 
her  embellishments,  and  the  famed  "Tarpean  Rock" 
was  scarcely  an  object  of  more  dread,  than  the  de 
clivity  that  overhung  this  singular  looking  place.  Not 
that  it  was  a  place  of  execution,  or  supposed  the  re 
sort  of  hobgoblins,  or  the  scene  of  midnight  murder 
or  incantation.  No — its  dark  and  fathomless  abyss 
inspired  other  terrors.  It  was  thought  fatal  to  the 
unfortunate  being  who  should  venture  to  step  be 
yond  a  certain  bound,  marked  by  the  sand  as  a  nar 
row  shoal.  Here  the  pebbly  bottom  was  distinctly 
visible,  and  beyond  this  it  was  said  no  bottom  could 
be  found,  and  the  sudden  and  dark  depth  that  suc 
ceeded,  black  as  the  "  Tartarian  Gulf,"  seemed  to 
confirm  the  assertion.  Besides,  it  had  been  the  vol 
untary  grave  of  many,  oppressed  with  the  woes,  or 
tired  of  the  cares  of  life.  The  ruined  debtor,  and 
the  remorseless  creditor,  had  both  lound  a  resting 
place  beneath  its  dark  waters  ;  its  waves,  (for  waves 
it  sometimes  has,  though  a  pond,)  had  engulfed 
the  young  and  the  lovely.  The  graceful  lover  and  his 
blooming  fair,  had  there  sunk  together,  and  the 
IVenzied  mother  with  her  unconscious  babes,  had 


AXD    REVOLUTIONARY. 

there  sought  and  found  their  last  home.  It  is  not 
then,  a  matter  of  wonder,  that  those  particularly, 
who  were  acquainted  with  these  stories,  should  pause 
to  survey  the  place  and  the  adjacent  landscape  with 
feelings  of  peculiar  interest. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  a  summer's  day,  that  a 
pedestrian,  from  one  of  the  neighboring  towns, 
stopped  near  the  little  Inn,  and  leaning  on  a  post, 
inserted  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  precipitous 
bank  afore  described,  was  musing  upon  the  events 
connected  with  the  scenery  around  him.  He  had  not 
stood  long  before  he  observed  one  of  those  heavy 
bulky  conveyances,  (an  apology  for  a  carriage)  pe 
culiar  to  the  western  country,  stop  at  the  Inn  door. 
A  fine  portly  looking  man,  of  middle  age,  and  of 
highly  respectable  appearance,  handed  out  a  female 
of  about  the  same  age,  who  evidently  possessed  the 
remains  of  uncommon  beauty.  The  lady  seemed  at 
once  absorbed  by  the  terrific  features  of  the  land 
scape,  upon  which  she  fastened  her  eyes,  where  the 
tears  were  fast  gathering,  as  her  husband,  for  such 
he  proved  to  be,  pointed  to  a  particular  spot  on  the 
shore,  and  whispered  something  in  her  ear.  Two 
quite  young  ladies  and  three  children  next  alighted, 
and  all  took  their  way  into  the  Inn.  Our  pedestrian 
feeling  himself  drawn  towards  them  by  some  secret 
sympathy,  undcfinable  to  himself,  immediately  fol 
lowed; — of  course,  politeness  kept  him  to  another 
room,  but  he  watched  the  party  closely  from  the 
window,  and  soon  saw  the  matron  leading  her  chil 
dren,  and  followed  by  the  two  young  ladies,  descend 
the  steep  path,  that  winding  round  the  base  of  the 
hill,  was  soon  lost  in  the  thick  wood  beyond.  He 
felt  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  follow,  but  then 
would  they  not  resent  such  intrusion  T  Still,  tome- 


210  TALES — NATIONAL 

thing  impelled  him  on,  and  at  length  the  dreadful 
suggestion  rose  to  his  mind  that  the  lovely  family  he 
had  seen,  might  be  oppressed  with  some  unknown 
griefs,  and  were  now  about  to  end  their  sorrows  and 
their  lives  at  this  fated  place ;  he  deliberated  no  lon 
ger,  but  hastily  pushed  down  the  path,  and  keeping 
himself  as  near  the  wood  as  possible,  to  elude  obser 
vation,  carefully  gained  the  neighborhood  of  the  lit 
tle  recess  they  had  chosen. 

Edwin  M- ,  the  person  of  whom  we  are  speak 
ing,  was  a  young  man  of  exquisite  sensibility.  He 
had  lately  come  into  possession  of  an  ample  fortune, 
but  disdaining  a  life  of  idleness,  continued  to  divide 
his  time  between  the  counting-room,  and  the  other 
pursuits  of  business  ;  he  had  made  this  a  day  of  re 
laxation,  tempted  by  the  uncommon  pleasantness  of 
the  day,  and  mildness  of  the  air, resolved  upon  along 
walk,  and  was  now  just  returning  to  town.  There  was 
in  his  character,  a  certain  degree  of  enterprise,  and 
love  of  adventure,  highly  excited  on  the  present  oc 
casion.  Seating  himself  unobserved  among  the 
bushes,  without  any  scruples  whatever,  about  listen 
ing  to  the  conversation,  he  overheard  the  matron 
accost  her  eldest  daughter.  "  Can  you  guess,  dear 
Ellen,  why  I  have  chosen  this  place  to  relate  the 
story  I  have  so  long  promised  youl"  "Indeed,! 
cannot,"  said  a  beautiful  girl,  apparently  about 
eighteen,  who  now  turning  suddenly  round,  displayed 
to  Edwin  for  the  first  time  a  lace  of  exquisite  beauty, 
while  carelessly  throwing  back  the  chesnut  curls 
that  shaded  her  fair  brow,  she  archly  added,  "  unless 
•dear  mother,  your  story  contains  something  horrible, 
which  you  wish  to  impress  upon  our  minds  by  the 
rarest  scene  of  desolation,  which  has  yet  been  pre 
sented  to  our  eyes;  surely  there  is  nothing  on  the 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  211 

sunny  sides  of  our  beautiful  lakes,  resembling 
this  scene  of  dreary  loneliness.  1  am  afraid  your  story 
will  turn  us  all  to  stone."  "Oh  Ellen,"  said  her 
mother,  "you  will  not  be  disposed,  I  trust,  to  make 
light  of  my  tale,  when  it  is  told ;  at  the  period  whence 
I  shall  commence  it,  I  was  as  gay  and  as  thoughtless 
as  you  are,  and  had  all  that  disposition  to  coquetry 
which  to  my  great  regret  you  seem  to  possess. 

"  I  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  farmer,  who  re 
sided  not  many  miles  from  this  place,  and  courted 
and  followed  by  many  of  the  first  young  men  for 
miles  around.  Vain,  silly,  and  coquetish/I  had  yet 
sufficient  sense  left  to  discover  the  merits  of  a  young 
man,  the  destitute  orphan  of  a  poor  laborer  on  my 
father's  land.  This  person,  whom  I  shall  call  Lubin, 
was  working  in  my  father's  employ,  at  the  time  our 
attachment  commenced.  Poor  as  he  was,  his  edu 
cation  was  much  above  the  generality  of  those  with 
whom  I  was  in  the  habit  of  associating.  His  thirst 
for  knowledge  was  insatiable,  and  most  of  his  little 
earnings  were  spent  in  procuring  books,  and  other 
means  of  instruction.  There  was  not  then,-  that  dis 
tinction  between  the  rich  and  the  poor,  particularly 
in  rural  life,  that  there  now  is,  and  I  knew  my  father 
would  make  no  objection  to  my  choosing  a  poor 
man — provided  he  was  sober,  prudent  and  industri 
ous — I  therefore,  felt  easy  on  that  head.  I  also 
knew  I  was  beloved  by  Lubin,  with  an  affection  ar 
dent  and  disinterested.  But  spoiled  by  the  flattery  I 
had  received;  the  love  of  power  had  become  my  rul 
ing  passion,  and  I  hesitated  in  avowing  a  mutual  re 
gard  for  my  lover,  for  no  other  reason,  but  the  pleas 
ure  of  tormenting  him.  Were  I  to  tell  you  all  the 
pranks  I  played,  and  the  various  ways  in  which  I  con 
tinued  to  give  him  pain,  it  would  take  till  to-morrow, 


212  TALES NATIONAL 

and  be,  I  am  afraid,  the  means  of  instructing  you  in  a 
dangerous  art.  I  hasten  then  over  two  years  of  my 
life,  which  I  can  never  think  of  without  shame  and 
remorse,  to  the  final  catastrophe  which  occurred  at 
this  place. 

I  was  proceeding  to  the  neighboring  town,  as  was 
then  customary,  on  horseback,  and  alone;  just  at  the 
foot  of  yonder  hill  I  met  rny  faithful  Lubin  returning 
with  an  empty  team.  Stopping  it,  he  flew  to  my 
side,  and  accosting  me  in  language  of  the  most  ar 
dent  affection,  informed  me  he  had  now  the  chance 
of  some  business  that  would  enable  him  to  support  a 
family,  and  trusted  I  would  no  longer  hold  out  un 
kind  and  repulsive,  but  confer  the  long  desired  bles 
sing  he  had  sought,  in  becoming  his  wife.  His  per 
suasive  manner,  and  animated  countenance,  at  that 
moment,  are  still  present  to  my  recollection — and  I 
am  in  amazement  to  reflect,  that  a  heart  could  have 
been  so  hardened  by  vanity,  as  to  resist  such  persua 
sion  ;  but  mine  was :  and  though  I  meant  nothing 
less  than  what  I  said,  I  plumply  and  positively  refus 
ed  him.  He  uttered  an  expresssion  of  anguish,  and 
added,  as  he  turned  from  me,  "  that  life  was  a  bur 
den,"  which  caused  me  to  reply,  "  here  then  is  a 
good  place  to  end  it — I  recommend  you  to  take  a 
lover's  leap."  Instantly  he  sprang  into  the  cart,  and 
drove  to  the  edge  of  the  water.  The  creatures  here 
stopped  to  slake  their  thirst,  but  an  uneasy  sensation 
rivited  my  eyes  to  Ihe  spot.  Observing  me  to  stop, 
he  turned  his  back  to  the  cattle,  and  directed  his  sad 
gaze  to  the  spot  where  I  had  halted.  His  agitation 
prevented  his  observing  the  creatures  were  slowly 
creeping  forward,  until  a  loud  shriek  from  me,  an 
nounced  that  they  had  lost  their  footing ;  instantly, 
the  cart  followed,  and  ^Yith  Lubin,  was  lost  to  my 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  213 

view."  She  stopped,  overcome  with  emotion,  and 
hiding  her  face  with  her  hands,  sobbed  audibly. 

"  Mother,  dearest  mother,"  cried  Ellen,  throwing 
herself  on  her  parent's  neck  and  weeping  bitterly, 
"  I  shall  never  be  vain  again  !  Oh,  how  much  you 
must  have  suffered, — poor  Lubin !  I  wish  he  could 
have  been  my  father."  "  He  is  your  father,"  said 
the  joyful  mother,  clasping  the  lovely  Ellen  to  her 
bosom,  and  smiling  through  her  tears — "  he  is  your 
father — guilty  as  I  was,  heaven  spared  me  the  great 
est  of  punishments.  But  to  return  to  my  story. — 
Something  seemed  to  crack  in  my  brain,  a  deafening 
noise,  louder  than  the  heaviest  thunder  assailed  me. 
I  sprang  upon  the  ground,  and  almost  incredible  to 
relate,  safely  and  instantly  descended  the  steep  de 
clivity.  I  saw  my  Lubin  again  arise  with  the 
cart,  which  borne  up  by  the  cattle,  sustained  him,  and 
though  sometimes  only  his  head  was  above  water, 
yet  they  swam  on.  I  knew  he  could  not  swim,  and 
kneeling  at  the  water's  edge,  I  was  agonizing  in 
prayer,  in  his  behalf.  Suddenly  they  halted,— I 
thought  then  it  was  all  over;  but  no  !  with  all  the  sa 
gacity  of  animal  instinct,  they  were  choosing  a  land 
ing  place,  and  turning  to  the  right,  they  safely  gained 
the  shore  just  before  us.  I  saw  the  mighty  struggle 
to  climb  it,  and  to  land  their  burden;  the  interven 
ing  bushes  then  hid  them  from  my  view;  but  I  flew 
with  the  speed  of  the  wind,  and  tearing  away  bushes 
and  briars,  as  they  intercepted  my  progress,  I  soon 
reached  this  spot,  where  my  exhausted  lover  lay 
stretched  upon  the  ground,  while  his  dumb  compan 
ions,  stood  panting  and  blowing  by  bis  side. 

Throwing  myself  on  his  bosom,  I  accused  myself 
of  being  the  death  of  the  only  man  I  had  ever  leved, 
oftorturiug  the  best,  the  kindest,  and  the  gentlest 


214  TALES— NATIONAL 

heart  that  ever  beat  within  a  human  bosom.     It  was 
in  vain,  that  he  pressed  his  feeble  arms   around  me 
and  assured  me  he  was  alive,  and    should   soon  be 
well.     I  still  persisted  he  was  dead,  and  when  found 
by  some  persons  from  the  Inn,  who  conveyed  us  both 
thither,  I  was  uttering  the  most  distracted  exclam 
ations.       The  physician  called,  pronounced  me  to 
be  in  a  brain  fever.     For  many  days  I  was  destitute 
of  reason,  and  lay  hovering  between  life  and  death, 
continually    accusing  myself  of  being  the  murderer 
of  Lubin.     I  shall  never    forget    the  evening  when 
awaking  from  a   lethargy,  in  which  I  had  lain  two 
days,  I  recognised  my  father,  and  hiding  my  face, 
begged  him  to  keep  me  from  the  light,  for  I  was  a 
murderer.     "Who  have  you  murdered  1"   said  he. 
"  Oh,  father,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I   am  not  distracted 
now,    for  I  clearly  remember   the  death  of  Lubin, 
and  its  cause."     "  That  is  impossible,  Emma,"  said 
he,  "for  he  is  not  dead."     "Don't,  don't  deceive 
me,"  I  exclaimed.      "  Why,"  said  my   father,  "  if 
you  don't  believe  me,  I  will  call  him  ;  I  gue«s  he  can 
tell  whether  he  is  dead  or  not.     He  was  not  drown 
ed,  but  got  safely  over,  only  you  were  frightened  out 
of  your  senses — but  compose  yourself,  and  you  shall 
see  him."     He  then  left  the  room,  beckoning  my  sis 
ter  out,  and  Lubin  advanced  from  the  opposite  side. 
I  Avill  not  attempt  to  describe  the  raptures  of  that 
meeting,    nor  the  mutual  professions  of  unalterable 
love  exchanged  between  us.     I   recovered  rapidly, 
and  in  one  month,  became  the  wife  of  your  beloved 
father — we  soon  removed   to  the   western  country, 
vhere  his  talents  and  virtues  have  been  justly  appre 
ciated — and  fortune    has  unvaryingly  showered   her 
gifts  upon  us.     I  have  availed  myself  of  the  opportu 
nity  of  visiting  my  aged  parent/  to  see   this  terrific 


AND    REVOLUTIONARY.  215 

§  pot  once  more,  the  scene  of  the  greatest  suffering  I 
have  ever  endured,  and  procurer  of  the  greatest  bles 
sing."  "  And  I  too,  have  wished  to  view  this  place 
once  more,"  paid  the  happy  husband,  who  now  join 
ing  them,  had  overheard  the  last  sentence.  "  But 
my  love,  we  must  return  to  the  Inn,  the  people  there 
jegm  to  look  rather  suspiciously  at  your  long  visit 
to  this  gloomy  shore." 

Edwin  now  found  his  vicinity  would  soon  be  dis 
covered,  as  they  were  about  to  pass  him  on  their  re- 
,urn,  so  making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  he  discovered 
limself,  snd  apologized  by  candidly  telling  the  whole 
;ruth.  The  kindness  01  his  motive  pleaded  pow 
erfully,  for  his  want  of  politeness,  and  he  was  for 
given.  At  the  Inn,  he  received  permission  to  sup  at 
Jhe  same  tables  and  upon  his  departure  was  warmly 
invited  to  visit  them  at  the  house  of  their  venerable 
parent. 

We  are  happy  to  add  in  the  sequel,  that  Edwin 
made  such  good  use  of  the  time  during  this  visit,  thai 
at  the  conclusion  of  it,  about  three  months  from  the 
Commencement  of  this  story,  the  beautiful  and  fascin 
ating  Ellen,  warned  by  the  tale  so  lately  heard 
against  giving  a  lover  unnecessary  pain,  consented 
to  leave  her  dear  parents,  for  the  arms  of  a  more 
youthful  protector,  and  to  take  up  her  residence  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Scott's  Pond. 


CONTENTS. 

PREFACE, 

NARRATIVE  OF  ROSANNA  HICKS, 

LIFE  OF  CAPT.  OLIVER  READ, 

THE  BLIND  SISTERS, 

THE  KING'S  SHIP, 

PROVIDENTIAL  ESCAPE, 

LiOYALTT, 

SCOTT'S  POND  THIRTY  YEARS  AGO, 

' 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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